


Nome

by SquigglyAverageJoe



Series: IjustreallywanttofindawaytowriteaboutredemptionandshitandIhavemanyfanficideas. [2]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: (almost definitely flirts with Husk), ...no., Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Also I cared more about everything else other than the action, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Explosives, Family Issues, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I Blame Tumblr, I just saw someone claim the Addict video weakened Angel’s character, I think Angel flirts with Husk at some point, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Italian, I’m not dissing the fics people have been writing where they kill off Valentino or whatever, I’ve had this idea rattling around in my brain for a while, Not sure if you’ve noticed, Okay But Charlie/Vaggie is quickly becoming one of my OTPS, Poor Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Protective Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Rape/Non-con Elements, Swearing, The Author Sucks At Writing Action, Valentino Being a Jerk (Hazbin Hotel), Writing a forty thousand word fic was a bad idea, a better use of my time might be to do something productive, and I figured instead of silently disagreeing with the previously mentioned person, and there’s like mentions of one sided Vox/Alastor, because fanfiction is productive?, but I really fucking love Niffty, but It’s only gonna be like, four tops I swear, gimme a break I’m tired and hungry and I came here for the ANGST, just to clarify, so this is in chapters, that should be a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 59,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28747356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquigglyAverageJoe/pseuds/SquigglyAverageJoe
Summary: The original name before publishing was “No—Killing Valentino would not solve all of Angel’s problems and here’s a fic showing how unrealistic that is.”The short version is I have some thoughts and fuck Valentino, and the long version is I saw someone say that the Addict video weakened Angel’s character because now, if someone kills Valentino, all of his problems are solved and while I believe that person is entitled to their opinions and has the right to express them, I have to disagree because—I have some thoughts on it, and I made a fic.________It’s been about sixty years coming—Angel Dust is getting clean. It’s not gonna be easy, butdamn it,it’s gonna happen.
Relationships: Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Series: IjustreallywanttofindawaytowriteaboutredemptionandshitandIhavemanyfanficideas. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107536
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, Angel Dust was canonically named Anthony, and I personally headcanon that Molly’s name was Miele (because it’s an Italian name, it means honey, it sounds similar?) and Arackniss...
> 
> ...People on Tumblr thought it was funny.

“You’re getting clean?”

Angel Dust sat next to Cherri on her bed, Fat Nuggets settled between them—Cherri’d been wanting to see him for awhile, and he could use some more time with her anyway. Unfortunately, he didn’t think he’d get away with helping her with a turf war, so the two of them had needed to find something else to do.

Painting nails was a lot more different than the action of a turf way, far quieter than a gun shot—it didn’t make his heart race the way he wanted it to, but it was a pretty shade of pink Cherri had picked out, and Cherri liked painting nails for some reason. Even though it was quieter, he genuinely liked hanging out with Cherri and didn’t like the way things had kind of felt for awhile—for a bit there, it felt more like he only called Cherri when he needed her, what with Valentino and everything, and then they had been quiet for a bit—

But no. They both liked hanging out with each other, and this—this moment of peacefulness right here—just reminded him of that. There was no explosions, no, no violence, but he didn’t need that to have fun with his best friend.

He sighed while Cherri finished his first pair, eye moving up from his hands back to his face. “Kinda,” he said. “Been clean for two days.”

She smiled slyly. “Sorta clean?”

”No,” he said. “Like, _clean_ clean. Like, Vaggie—the manager—“ Cherri nodded, swiped another fingernail with the polish. He had talked about this with her a few times, but he wanted to make sure she understood, she got frustrated when he mentioned people she didn’t know and acted like she did know them, because then she thought she forgot someone’s name again, someone important. “—took my drugs.”

”Damn, what a bitch,” she said.

”Nah,” he said. “She’s been kinda cool recently—I told her to take them.”

”Why?” Cherri asked.

He shrugged. “I guess, more accurately, I told Charlie I wanted to get clean because I’m sick o’ Valentino, and she told Vaggie and then Vaggie was like, ‘well, if you’re serious, I should take your cocaine,’ and I said, ‘it’s not cocaine, it’s PCP, bitch’ and she asked me how much I snorted, and I told her I smoked it, and she sighed and asked if I was serious and I said I was.” Cherri’s shoulders rose once in a quiet chuckle. “And then she took ‘em. And I’ve been clean for two days, with minor bitchin’.”

”And...” She might raise an eyebrow, if she had any more than the one over her singular eye. “How’s that working for you?”

He slumped. “...I almost broke a vendin’ machine on my way over,” he admitted. “I stopped myself because I have a pig, and I need to set a good example as his mama—not by like, bein’ a good person, just by not beatin’ up a vendin’ machine after two days.” He rubbed his temples with the pair of hands Cherri had yet to get to. “Charlie said that she thinks I need to get more hobbies, to distract myself, but I don’t know where the fuck she thinks I’m gonna pick up a bunch o’ hobbies—not like I got loads of free time.”

”It’s been awhile,” Cherri said. “Since you’ve come over.” She set the nail polish down for a moment to grab a bag of treats behind her and give one to Nuggs—Fat Nuggets didn’t have to move an inch for her to hand it over and he knew it too.

”Yeah,” he said. “...Sorry I haven’t been over much, I’ve been...” He wasn’t sure what adjective to use. He wasn’t thrilled about it. He had _missed_ hanging out with Cherri. “...busy,” he settled on. “Kept meanin’ to come over—but I got work, and I’ve been tryin’ to catch up on my sleep—those double shifts kick my ass. And then I guess Vaggie and Charlie think you’re a bad influence or somethin’.”

”Who? Me?”

”I’m not too worried about it, though,” he said. “You don’t make me do anythin’ I’ve never done before.” He had been born into the mafia—he didn’t have to worry too much about bad influences, because he was usually the worst one. He bet his brother didn’t want to be around him, because he was worried about Angel turning him gay or something. Plus, bad influence or no, Cherri was the best friend he had ever had. “God, my head is killin’ me.”

”I have liquor,” Cherri said—this would not help with his head, but also, it definitely would.

They went quiet for a bit. “That one demon,” Cherri said after a bit. “The one that I see when I demon watch by the window?”

”The one that you made sound like my brother?”

”Well, he’s definitely your brother,” Cherri said. “Had the same Brooklynn accent as you and _everything,_ Angie.”

”You _spoke_ to him?”

”Yeah,” she said. “I was really proud of myself too, I was so fucking smooth.”

”He doesn’t usually take too well to dames hittin’ on him, Cherri.”

”Yeah, figures.” She finished a third hand, and moved onto a fourth. “He was cuter up close, though, in all honesty. But I wasn’t super obvious in my flirting, so I don’t think he’s entirely pissed at me for flirting.”

”Nice,” Angel said, and then, “Don’t fuck my brother.”

”I won’t,” she said. “I’m just kinda bored—thought I saw him talkin’ to someone, though, down the street. A man—less cute, still a spider.”

”Ugh,” Angel said. “You’re just findin’ my whole fuckin’ family over here?”

”Guess so. But don’t worry—the only fucking I’d do with your parents is _fucking murder them_ for being fucking assholes.”

”This is why you’re my favorite bitch, Cherri.” Cherri grinned—she was wearing her hair down for a change, probably because she was at home. When they were together, there was basically no rules. Cherri had seen him topless on multiple occasions. She was not afraid to ditch her bra in front of him. Talking about embarrassing shit from their lives when they were shitfaced drunk and assumed they wouldn’t remember when they sobered up but always did remember was commonplace at this point—it was all part of the fun, and the comfort of their relationship. “...Haven’t seen Niss in awhile, though.”

”Niss?” Cherri questioned.

”Well, he _was_ named Ian,” Angel said. “But now his name’s Arackniss.” Cherri snorted. “It’s such a terrible name, I can’t call him it, so I just call ’im Niss.”

”Ian, though? Isn’t your family Italian?”

”Yeah?”

”Okay, but _your_ name is Anthony, which is obviously Italian, and your twin sister was named Miele which was also, obviously Italian.”

”I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ ‘bout, Cherri—it’s the last three letters of _Italian._ ”

”Right,” she said. “My bad.” The nail polish was cool on his finger tips, the room smelled like acetone. “Can’t believe you’re actually getting clean—are you really taking redemption seriously?”

He didn’t entirely know. “I’m...Not sure right now.” He glanced at his pig, sleeping like the baby he was. “It just feels like, one of these days I’m not really gonna have a choice—it’s gonna be get clean, or... turn to Valentino, and if I do that, then...” Cherri’s expression softened—just the mention of his name sucked the fun out of the room, made them both stiffen. It changed the mood in moments, managed to ruin his whole day, but he kept talking. “If I’m gonna have to get clean, I wanna do it on my own terms, y’know? If I jus’ put it off, I’m gonna end up crawlin’ back to the studio.”

”Damn.” Cherri sighed. “That’s so depressing.” She screwed the lid of the nail polish back on. “I’m gettin’ liquor—you’re not getting sober on me too, right?”

”Hell no,” he said.

She got up and retrieved a large bottle of Vodka from the kitchen and a gallon of juice—Cherri didn’t make any real cocktails (except Molotov) and couldn’t stomach shots, so she just mixed watermelon juice with some vodka and got drunk off of that. It worked—it was alcohol. She settled back on the bed. “So what _hobbies_ does the princess think you’re gonna find?”

”Well, since she wants to be redeemed and shit,” he said. “Probably the borin’ ones. Got Vaggie to lay off o’ me for my job, though, so I can still sin it up at work.”

”Yeah, but that’s a bad sin,” Cherri said. “...I mean, not bad as in fucking people, I like my porn too, I don’t give a shit about morals or whatever, but like, bad as in fuck your work and your work specifically.”

”Fuck my work,” he agreed. “The hotel ain’t so bad anymore, though, now that it has a bar, and a cute bartender—he watches my pig, Cherri. I get to come back from work to a hot guy holdin’ my pig.”

She let out a low, impressed whistle. “I can only strive to be so fortunate.”

”One day, you’ll find a guy who can hold your pig and or whateva other pet you get.”

”I’d settle for a girl.”

The room dropped into silence and Angel forced himself to relax—a pretty common occurrence, but this was a place where he _could_ relax, if he just let himself do it. Cherri wasn’t judgmental, wasn’t gonna hurt him, wasn’t gonna stick a hand down his skirt—he could trust her.

”How’s... everythin’ been?” He asked Cherri.

”Boring when I’m not getting into turf wars,” Cherri said. “Been seeing that stupid billboard Valentino has—I’m _considering_ blowing it up.”

”Oh my god, Cherri— _do it.”_

”It’s days are numbered,” she decided. “I was thinking of asking you for help, because if anyone has a right to blow up a billboard with that rat bastard’s face on it, it’s you, but I don’t want to be a bad influence or anything.” She folded her arms behind her head, her voice taking on a teasing tilt.

”Just ‘cause I’m done with most drugs, doesn’t mean I’m goin’ soft on you, Sugartits, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He frowned. “...Fuck, I don’t want Valentino to find out I’m gettin’ clean.”

”He doesn’t have to know.”

”Yeah, but...” He pulled a thread off his top, drifting to the floor. “He keeps bringin’ me into his office durin’ some of my shifts to talk—he’s been pissed since I started stayin’ at the hotel, thinks it’s too far from the studio. ...He offered me drugs three weeks ago. When I didn’t take them, he told me he knew I was going behind his back to get more money.”

”That rat bastard,” Cherri seethed, but even in her anger, she was quiet. Neither of them really did get too riled up about the shit Valentino pulled anymore—at some point, he had stopped crying after Valentino had his way with him, stopped fighting—nowadays, when it happened, he tried to focus on something to look at. He had settled on a poster of one of Valentino’s past stars, a demoness with big eyes, and eyeliner with wings so large, it was like she was trying to fly away from all her troubles. He had that poster memorized—didn’t know anything about her, but knew she was thin, and had bangles on her wrists and dark hair, and that she looked human back when looking human in Hell was popular, like the population wanted to cling to a few shreds of the humans they used to be, but only in fashion trends. He was pretty sure that when new trends came by, that star just kind of faded out—he had yet to find out what that meant to Valentino. But it was just something to stare at, a momentary distraction.

”God,” he said. “Let’s go five minutes without talkin’ ‘bout my boss, because he _is_ a rat bastard. Let’s get drunk and pretend he doesn’t exist.”

”Oh, _fuck yeah.”_

“You have to have some hobbies,” Charlie said, like this was a thing she had decided. She slid into the chair next to him while he drank a cup of coffee—he had read somewhere that food and water didn’t really sober you up, but he wasn’t sure how true that was and he was craving coffee anyway. His pig was asleep in his room—and Charlie was determined to find something to help with his drug addiction.

He’d been steadily decreasing the amount he used—and he hadn’t realized how much he had used when he had it, until now—two days clean, and already he was itching for just about _anything._ A needle drug, cocaine, really, just _anything,_ even some weak painkillers would do, if it could take his mind off of the drugs he might as well have handed over to Vaggie. “Not really, toots,” he said. “Other than drugs, drinkin’, guns, and suckin’ dick, I...don’t really do much.” That just sounded fucking pathetic.

And he knew that from the way Charlie’s expression twisted. “Anything?”

He sighed. “Used to play the accordion, and the trumpet. Used to cook.”

Charlie brightened up all over again. “That’s something!” She exclaimed. “I... don’t know entirely what to do with those two things, but... You could help Niffty in the kitchen or something. I always worry she needs help in there, she’s one person, trying to feed—“ Charlie stopped to count on her fingers—her, Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Niffty, Alastor made six. “—six.” Sometimes, Alastor helped her in the kitchen, but he was kind of weary of all that, and he wasn’t sure just how willing Alastor was to actually help her—and he wasn’t against the thought of spending time around Niffty, anyway.

He shrugged. “I guess.” How the fuck was he gonna carve out time for that, though? Between work and everything, it didn’t feel like there was enough time in the day, and he was kind of tempted to tell Charlie she was being stupid and it had been a stupid idea to try getting clean anyway—but he figured he’d save it for at least a weak or two. He didn’t want to break after two days. He sighed and finished off his coffee—Niffty had made him decaf and chirped something about the new (and real) plant Alastor had bought to put in the lobby for her, which had somehow lead to her asking how Cherri was doing, and then admitting that she got the sweetest comment on her fanfiction—it had lead to the discovery that when writing drafts, Niffty always wrote the dialogue in Japanese, but settled on English in posting eventually. He really needed to make the two of them meet each other—they both only had one eye, Cherri was reading her fanfiction, and Niffty could use some more friends.

He groaned. “I need to get to sleep,” he said, stretching a pair of his arms over his head—something popped and he almost moaned, but tried to keep quiet. There was no reason in seducing Charlie, when she and her girlfriend made up the cutest couple ever, and he wasn’t even _interested_ in Charlie. “I got work in the morning.”

”Don’t you get any sick days ever?” She asked.

”I get one weekend off every two weeks,” he said. “And sometimes, I need to do a webcams thing, or go down to the studio for a specific type o’ client then. I’m a hustler, babe, I can’t afford to be sick.” Usually, if he tried to tell Valentino he was sick, he was told he better not get anyone else sick, but Val’d wring his neck if he didn’t show up for work—it just meant he had to ditch his usual perfume for a few gallons of hand sanitizer, so he didn’t spread germs.

Work was a lot less sexy when you smelled like you fucking bathed in hand sanitizer.

”Vacation?” Charlie asked.

He laughed. “Because even while I’m dancin’ at clubs on married men’s laps and suckin’ cock, I need a break?” He laughed harder—because he really, really _did._ “If I’m lucky, Val’ll let me loose once every two months for a day, maybe, or two, if he has some business he needs to attend to.” Usually directly after or before difficult shoots. And it usually depended on his behavior, or how much he had pissed his pimp off.

”...You know how the more you know about someone, the more they grow on you?”

”Yeah?”

”It’s like, the exact opposite with Valentino. Everything you say about him makes him sound like the scum of Hell.”

He laughed again, quieter this time. “Yeah, well—that’s only ‘cause he is.” ...His boss ran every aspect of his life, and always seemed to be in the room, leering down at him—even when he wasn’t. Even safe at the hotel, he could still feel Valentino’s hands, stroking his knee, rubbing his chest, cupping his groin...

The lobby suddenly went dead silent—like Charlie maybe stopped breathing with him. He rubbed at his eyes. “I need to get to bed, see you in the mornin’, Charlie.”

”Night, Angel!”

Fat Nuggets got up to greet him when he shut the door behind him. “Hey, Baby Nuggs. Mama’s here.” He shed his clothing, exchanging the miniskirt and the suit jacket and the gloves for faded pink t-shirt that made him look shapeless before picking up his baby. He collapsed on his bed and pet over Nugget’s spikes on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

...He didn’t know how he had lasted these two days.

_He knew he was in Hell—he could barely remember what home looked like anymore, his home from life, but the way_ _home had felt to him had lingered in his mind—a sort of bone deep discomfit that wrapped around his wrists and throat and clawed down his throat, made his skin crawl like it was trying to either move him as far away as possible, that intangible burn he could never put his finger on, but always knew, that he always felt no matter how far away from home he ever felt._

_And here, right here in Hell, he felt it stronger than he had in what felt like at_ _least the better half of a decade. He’d only ever been in this specific alleyway once, leaned up against the wall beside his older brother, some sort of truce._

_Ian smoked now. Ian was a spider now. Ian went by ‘Arackniss’_ _now—but Arackniss didn’t look like the spider he had been when Angel had last seen him. Instead, he looked... foreign._

_Either way, he was holding a cigarette in his hand, identical to the one Angel held—he towered over his brother. He had been a few inches taller in life, not too noticeable, and then they had multiplied, as if he had grown feet over the course of his afterlife just to be taller than Arackniss._

_He kept giving him the side eye—or, side eyes, with all eight of them on his face. He barely recognized his brother. He didn’t know how his brother had recognized him before._

_This was a dream, he knew, and he knew the peace between them would be short lived, because even in life, peace had been rare. Their mother had dismissed it as “sibling rivalry,” and their father had basically encouraged their feuding, but it felt a little less like rivals, a little more like, in getting pregnant with Miele, his mother had managed to also give birth to ~~Ian’s~~ Arackniss’ worst enemy, and now they were at each other’s throats, non stop._

_”Your name almost makes sense,” Angel Dust said. “Like. Arackniss has... all the letters. All three o’ em.”_

_Grey smoke pushed through the gaps in Arackniss’ teeth. He barley looked at him. “What’re ya on on about.” It wasn’t said like a question—his brother still had a toneless, grim voice, even in death and even in Angel’s dreams._

_”Your name. I think.”_

_Arackniss didn’t roll his eyes, just held his gaze for way too long. Uncomfortably long. ...Why did Arackniss have more than eight eyes?_

_”You’re still high as shit. You died high as shit.”_

_”And now I live high as shit.” ...Afterlive? Was that a thing? He didn’t know. Didn’t care. This was a dream, things didn’t need to make sense._

_Arackniss turned to him, somehow more serious than he had been before. “Tell me,” he said._

_”Huh?” Faintly, he felt the cigarette burning to a stub in his hands—he wasn’t sure if he had even had a drag, just felt a sting on his fingers before dropping out to land on the black cement._

_”Tell me,” he said. “You didn’t tell me before.”_

_”Tell you what?” That cigarette was still smoking on the ground, by his boots._

_He was missing his gloves for some reason—he felt bare without them, but Arackniss’ eyes were narrowed, all thirty nine of them, reminding him this was a dream because he did know that his brother didn’t have nearly forty fucking eyes. “Are you...” And for a minute, it wasn’t a dream, it was a memory, and he was back for real in that stupid alleyway, smoking with his brother and ignoring the elephant in the room. He coughed, awkwardly. “...you know...”_

_”I don’t...”_

_”I know a thing or two ‘bout sex work, Anthony,” he said. “And it’s only the bad things.” He snuffed out the glowing red tip on the wall beside him, dropping it onto the pavement again. “...I can’t shake the thought... Of you not actually_ wantin’ _to work for that-that...”_ _He had almost forgotten, that_ _ ~~Ian~~ Arackniss snapped his fingers when he forgot words in English, and could only think of them in Italian. “_Magnaccia. _” He shifted, uncomfortably, like he was still clinging to the idea he wasn’t suffering, when he knew the truth now. “...Say the word, say the fuckin’ word, and I’ll tell Pops you don’t actually want in with him.”_

_”The fuck is that gonna do?” He spat out, again, just repeating the same thing he had._

_”We’ll figure somethin’ out!” Arackniss said, raising his voice uncharacteristically. “Ya think the Acciai family’s scared of an overgrown insect in a fancy coat? Pops fuckin’ hates you, but you’re still his son, we’d fuckin’ murder the bastard and burn his fuckin’ studio to the ground, ya need us to. There’s no way you_ like _doin’...” He paused, made a vague gesture towards him and his outfit. “...this.”_

_”And what if I fuckin’ do?” He asked. “The fuck ya gonna do about it, ~~Ian?~~ Tell Pops I’m a fuckin’ queer?”_

_”We all know you’re a fuckin’ queer, Anthony—fuckin’ mad over it, still, doesn’t mean we want you gettin’ felt up by men twice your fuckin’ size on TV.”_

_”Maybe that’s what I want, ~~Ian~~! Maybe I wanna fuck men like the fuckin’ queer I am, maybe I want the whole of Hell to know I’m a fuckin’ queer—ya think that’s your fuckin’ problem?”_

_”You look like shit, Anthony—you fuckin’ overdosed, went into a_ fuckin’ coma _, got a bullet through your head—“ Damn, his cigarette was still_ really _smoking. It poured out of the alleyway, onto the street, into the skies, a thick, black column, slowly suffocating them. “—and now we all wake up in hell, to find you dressed like a hooker, suckin’ cocks for the right price while high outta your goddamn mind, and I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut about it?”_

_”Yeah! Like you and Pops would have gave a flyin’ fuck beforehand—what, two of you have a fuckin’ change of heart, think I got into sex work ‘cause I’m desperate? To piss you off? Nah, I’m tryin’ to embarrass you here. I want everyone to know your brother’s A FUCKIN’ QUEER, AND THE GAYER I AM, THE MORE I’M PAID FOR MY JOB, SO FUCK YOU, FUCK THIS FAMILY, AND FUCK YOUR MACHO MAN BULLSHIT, IT DOESN’T BRING ME ANY MONEY!”_

_”You’re FUCKIN’ insane, Anthony—that shit you OD’d on musta left you FUCKIN’ BRAIN DEAD. If you’re so fuckin’ HAPPY with your afterlife, forget I fuckin’ asked anything.”_

_He should have been shouting back. This was when they started shouting louder—but he just leaned his back against the wall, and stared at the pentagram in the sky. “I ain’t happy, ~~Ian.~~ ”_

_He didn’t say anything back. He was barely visible through all the smoke. Angel’s eyes started to water. “I haven’t been happy in a long time. Not like I was fuckin’ happy alive, either—you piece of shit. Takin’ Valentino down ain’t even gonna make me happy, I don’t wanna deal with you and Ma and Pops, I’m sick o’ you. You’re only fuckin’ against this ‘cause of what I’m fuckin’, not because you’re actually worried about me, you bastard._

_”No fuckin’ wonder Pops liked you more ‘an me, you’re just a younger version o’ him—no sense of humor, don’t fuckin’ care about anythin’, you just put the bare minimum effort into pretendin’ you do good things and call it a day._

_”I couldn’t even fuckin’ leave my job if I wanted to. You don’t care about my job. You don’t hate my job, you just hate me. Why the fuck did you bring it up, why are you pretendin’ to care now, now that we’re all dead? Where the fuck do you get off, ~~Ian?~~ ~~Ian!”~~_

_He didn’t respond—this smoke was suffocating him. “Goddamnit, ~~Ian!~~ ”_

He woke up, sweating like he had been bathing in smoke minutes earlier. Fifteen minutes before his alarm. His eyes felt watery. He rubbed at them and cradled his pig, who was also awake and looking at him with bleary eyes. “Did I wake you, Nuggs?” Fat Nuggets seemed to huff. “I’m sorry. Jus’ some nightmare, Nuggs. You catch up on your sleep, babe.”

...He really, really wanted some fucking angel dust.

Everyone in this hotel was so much taller than her, it was frustrating.

They had put the cans on the second lowest shelf, and she still couldn’t reach it—they really needed to invest in a stool or something for her to stand on. Didn’t they know that girls were usually shorter than men, and who else would be in the kitchen but a girl?

Well, she supposed, she was the only girl who actually did things in the kitchen. Niffty still thought a manager was a man’s job, but Vaggie was an amazing manager regardless, and Charlie was a good co-owner alongside Alastor. At the very least, the fact that she was the one in the kitchen most often should have meant that they didn’t put things on the highest shelves possible—too bad demons didn’t really grow, she was stuck as a four foot tall twenty two year old for the rest of eternity, or at least until she died.

She tried to reach again. She had not grown those necessary three feet to reach it. “Al,” she called. “Do I have to make another deal with you to get some help?”

Somewhere behind her, Alastor laughed and picked her up—if she was anyone else, the answer probably would have been _Yes,_ and he probably would have dropped her when she grabbed what she needed, but she had managed to make Alastor fond enough of her to not be a dick to her, if the threads he bought her meant anything.

Alastor put her back down and she moved back to the stove. “Wow, these ovens are tall. Why is everything in this hotel so tall? How do you tall people manage to go about your afterlives?”

The door opened—she threw a glance back away from the stove and over to the doorway of the kitchen. “Oh, hi, Angel! Did you need something?”

”You need any help in here, babe?”

”Oh, well—“ She hesitated a moment. Call her old fashioned, but she really didn’t believe men belonged in the kitchen. Most any men she met in life usually ended up burning down the kitchen, ruining a few pans for a charred, tasteless meal—her father did it, her husband did it, and though Alastor could probably manage, she didn’t trust him outside of lending his long legs for a moment for her to grab something she couldn’t reach... She thought it’d be rude to burn down the kitchen’s hotel, didn’t want to ruin any of the pans, but...

She supposed she could give Angel a chance—if a man dressed like a woman, maybe he could cook like one too? ”Sure!” She chirped. She gestured to a cutting board on the counter. “There’s some carrots, can you chop them into about one inch pieces?”

He flicked a piece of hair out of his face—Nifft wasn’t sure why he was offering. ”I can manage that.”

Okay. ...Okay. She could manage with a man’s work on that. That’d be fine.

She reached to turn on the vent over the stove top—and had to basically climb onto the counters to reach. She didn’t even need it yet, but it was a force of habit. Every time she was near a stove, she needed that thing on—just in case.

She moved quickly through the kitchen, like she always did, but there was less to do with Angel helping—and she hated it. A lot.

_He’ll probably mess it up anyway,_ she thought. _So I’ll still get to do it, and I still get his help! It’s good for everyone, I think! ...I think he wanted to help?_

Maybe Charlie told him to go help? She didn’t know—she didn’t _need it_ , but the idea of someone offering to help her was a nice enough thought for her to just stay, bouncing on the balls of her feet while she waited by the stove.

It didn’t take Angel long—just... longer than her and when she looked it over, she had to admit that he hadn’t ruined it. The carrots weren’t on fire or anything, but she tried to keep her surprise quiet—it’d be rude, and it was so nice for him to offer to help her, if she scared him away now, she was never gonna have any friends, and she’d die making bland recipes from the nineteen fifties, alone in the kitchen forever and all eternity.

And that wouldn’t do!

”Thank you so much, Angel Dust—I didn’t know you cooked.” She worked on opening that can she had gotten out of the cupboard.

He shrugged. “A bit,” he said. “Mostly Italian food—no idea what all this is.”

”Just a bunch of old recipes,” she said. “From the fifties, so they’re pretty dated, but it’s all I really know.”

”Didn’t they also like, put shit in jello in the fifties?”

”Weird times,” she agreed. “I happen to _like_ jello, but I thought it might be a bit too weird for you all, so I’ve skipped on it.”

”Yeah, it’s not jello that’s the problem, it’s the puttin’ weird shit in it.”

”Every cookbook I’ve ever owned had _some_ type of jello recipe—and we thought ketchup was spicy! It was how things were.”

“Insane,” he said. “ _Jello.”_

Those two days became three. Then four. He helped Niffty again in the kitchen on the fifth, where he helped with one small thing while Niffty rushed to take care of the rest, like she feared once he put his hands on whatever the task was, he’d mess it up.

It became a week. Two weeks. He had actually been clean for two weeks, and it was the worst thing he had ever done in the entirety of his afterlife. Usually, he got at least a _little_ bit of drugs at this point, but it wasn’t that he couldn’t get any so much as he _wouldn’t,_ and that made all the difference in turning an unpleasant, frustrating experience to the most frustrating fucking experience he had ever had. He was already considering trying to seduce Vaggie to get his drugs back—it would be a great feat, since Vaggie was gay and all, but he had managed to reason with himself that it was a thousand times more likely Vaggie would kick his ass for trying then give him his drugs, and even if he did succeed, he could break up the cutest couple in the hotel and why would he want that?

No. He’d save _that_ plan for when he got _really_ desperate. For now, he settled with holding his pig all possible hours of the day—the last thing he did before he left the hotel was set Fat Nuggets down and sic him on Husk (to give him kisses, not to maul to death or whatever other people might do with their hellpigs) and the first thing he did after work, when he got back to the hotel was pick up his pig. It had gotten to the point where Fat Nuggets knew about the time Angel would be back to the hotel and would be standing by the door to greet him and it was the sweetest thing ever.

”Where the fuck do you even go about getting a hellpig?” Husk asked while he sipped at his drink half heartedly—he _liked_ liquor, but it wasn’t what he really wanted right now.

”Fuck if I know,” he said, petting over Nuggets’ spikes. “He was a gift. I just love my lil’ Baby Nuggs and I’m so glad I got ‘im, ‘cause he’s the sweetest, ain’t he, Husky?”

“I’ll agree with you when you start agreeing to reimburse me for all the limes he eats.” He chuckled—Husk did not look as amused. “I’m running the worse bar in Hell—no limes, no cherries, and Niffty keeps eating the ice.”

”It’s ice,” Angel said. “Literally just water—it’s not a rarity.”

Husk rolled his eyes and loosely grabbed a bottle by the neck. “There a reason you’re always carrying your pig around now?”

“Stress reliever,” he responded. “Nuggs absorbs all o’ my stress, like a cute lil’ sponge.” He brought him closer to him as he spoke—it almost distracted him from how weirdly cold he felt. Maybe it was because of his outfit? It was difficult to dress _sexy_ in layers, couldn’t cover too much skin. And despite the fact that he felt cold, he couldn’t stop sweating.

”Fucking hell,” Husk said. “You’re getting some really bad withdrawals, huh?”

”Tch. Nah, just comin’ down with somethin’.” He swallowed. “It’s only been two weeks, I ain’t ‘bout to start cutting paper dolls or some shit after two weeks.”

If Husk understood what he meant, he didn’t show it, but he also didn’t ask questions. Instead, he merely topped him off and took another drink of his own bottle, eying him.

Angel told himself he didn’t care.

On his way up to his room, he bumped into Charlie, wearing a smile wider than Alastor’s and somehow managing to be more intimidating in a way he didn’t quite grasp. “Angel Dust, I’m so proud of you! Two whole weeks clean!”

These two weeks had just been needlessly reminding him of where he was. This was _Hell,_ and every minute clean had him feeling that eternal damnation like fire on his skin. “Don’t remind me.”

”Really, though,” she said. “You’re doing so good! And it’s two weeks _actually_ clean, not the two weeks clean you were in that turf war.”

”Which one we talkin’ about?” He asked.

Charlie laughed—Angel wasn’t entirely sure if he was joking himself. “Anyway, just... keep it up, okay? You’re doing great. If you need anything, let me or Vaggie know, and...” She cleared her throat and spoke again, hushed. “Maybe keep away from Alastor a bit? Just for now?”

”Why?”

”We just...” She cleared her throat again. “We just know that these two weeks have been hard for you, and we want to be confident in your ability to get clean and encourage you, and... Vaggie and I worry he might say something... upsetting to you.”

”Whatever the fuck Smile’s got to say to me,” he responded. “I don’t think it’s gonna be nearly as damagin’ as you’re thinkin’, babe.”

”Maybe,” Charlie responded. “But um... Just... You know, keep your distance? Until you think you’re stable enough.”

He was pretty sure he was already stable enough, but he just nodded and stepped into his room.

He wondered if Vaggie would like a black lingerie set or a red one—maybe he’d go with whatever one made him look more feminine, that was probably her type.

Two weeks turned to three—he made an effort to be overall healthier to appease Charlie, because she had been fretting over his health. _You barely eat—you can’t just drink cocktails and chew ice with Niffty and Husk, you need to eat something!_ She had said—he really didn’t have much of an appetite half the time, but the other half of the time, he wanted to eat everything in sight, so he was hoping for a sort of balance by eating three, small meals a day and Charlie had looked relieved when she saw him trying to eat, so he was achieving _something_.

”You don’t like it, huh?” Niffty asked. “I _thought_ I used too little paprika when I made it, it’s kind of bland, I’m still kind of adjusting my fifties housewife recipes to make them better, because I can’t just keep pushing out the same five meals I keep doing, and I know none of you guys are gonna like jello—“

”No,” he interrupted, because if he didn’t interject soon, Niffty would continue to talk for hours, assuming he hated her cooking. “That ain’t it, babe—just don’t have mucha an appetite, I think it’s like... a drugs thing.” he rubbed at his temples and continued to stab at his plate with his fork.

”But I thought you weren’t doing drugs anymore?” Niffty asked.

”Oh, _god,_ don’t remind me.”

Fuck, this muffin was dry—had to leave in five minutes, and he couldn’t get much more than a mouthful.

Niffty was in the corner of the bar, chomping ice, watching him eat like it might teach her all the secrets she needed to improve her cooking, and now he was wondering if maybe he was doing this for more than Charlie. He took another bite, Niffty muttered something to herself and nodded like this was an answer.

He was still holding his pig.

”The fuck were you and Vaggie shouting about last night?” Husk asked.

”We were loud?”

”No, but I associate you and Vaggie with shouting.”

He shrugged, weakly. “I tried to flirt with her to get my drugs back.” It didn’t get much farther than just flirting, because Vaggie had been so stunned by the fact that Angel was honestly flirting with her, she had just kind of laughed and told him it’d take way more than some pickup lines to get his drugs back, and he had cursed and left, because he wasn’t sure if he actually wanted his drugs _that_ badly. “Didn’t work out.”

”...Vaggie’s gay,” he said.

”So am I,” he said. “Shoulda worked, just ‘bout everyone else wants a piece o’ me, but no, not the lesbian.”

“Of course not the lesbian,” Husk said. “You heard what she said in that support group therapy thing—she literally needed to be paid to sleep with men.”

”Yeah, yeah, whatever, it’s fuckin’ stupid, I hate being clean.”

”Isn’t PCP—“ Niffty started from where she was. “—like, that one drug that’s _really_ difficult to get clean of? It’s the one that abstaining from can give you like, seizures, muscle breakdown, and hallucinations and stuff, right?”

”Eh, I think I got most o’ that outta my system,” he said. “Why I locked myself in my room for awhile, didn’t want to do any embarrassin’ shit in front of you fuckers, or anythin’ that’d scar Niffty.”

”I write fanfiction,” she said. “I’m not gonna break.”

”Yeah, but _I_ sure might.” He groaned and stood, holding Fat Nuggets tighter. “Ugh, I gotta get ta work before I pass out or somethin’.”

Niffty frowned. “Won’t you just pass out at work then?”

”Yeah, but technically I can still do my job.”

Niffty was still frowning. “Don’t think too much into it, kid,” Husk told her.

Angel went to the doors, still holding his pig before putting him down right before he stepped out. “Go get ‘im, Nuggs—go give Husky kisses.”

With the go ahead, Fat Nuggets immediately ran back to Husk, snorting. “You could just hand him to me, you know,” Husk told him.

”Yeah, but I like holdin’ my pig.”

He would have sucked a man _dry_ for something to smoke right now.

He moved too sluggishly through the streets—he knew how some demons looked when they’d gone too long without whatever drug they were addicted to, the way they set their jaws and how their eyes got glassy and how they looked like they had lost all will to (after)live and were ready to fight Satan barefisted for a single dose and he didn’t like the fact that _he_ looked like that.

As always, he looked hot, but his hotness _barely_ covered up his withdrawal, and it was _this_ street.

He strained his ears, swallowing hard—chances were they were nowhere to be found, he wouldn’t have to worry about this, and he’d make it to the studio with the same boring route he always took because nothing in Hell ever really seemed to change, but he swore he was shivering, and he felt weak, dizzy.

He did not want his family to see him like this—any other day would be fine, where he was in his thigh high boots and his miniskirt and choker, but not when he looked ready to keel over and fucking die in the middle of the street.

He approached an alleyway, a thin tendril of smoke pouring out of it and drifting towards the street—he thought about his brother’s voice, the tobacco in the air, the dull pounding that had been in his skull, that _burn_ beneath his skin, like there was an itch _beneath his flesh_ he needed to _scratch_ —

He knew it could be anyone—he knew there was plenty of smokers in Hell, but that didn’t matter, because he knew _one_ of them was his brother.

Angel turned on his heel and walked the opposite direction—he’d go the long way! Anything to make sure he didn’t run into his brother.

... _Fuck, I want a cigarette._

Still no appetite. He glared down at his drink, idly running a gloved finger over the rim while he pet his pig. He was used to being sore by now from work, but these few weeks he’d been spending clean had reminded him that the drugs _had_ numbed a bit more than his _emotional_ pain or whatever. He wasn’t even in the mood to flirt with Husk, didn’t want to drink, just sat there, willing all the usual feelings he had to come back to him right now so he could pretend getting clean wasn’t destroying him.

A warm colored blur sped by and slammed something on the counter of the bar right next to him, startling him out of his thoughts. Niffty stared up at him, smiling in a way that looked almost _victorious_. “...Ya find somethin’, babe?”

”I—“ She huffed, moving a lock of her hair out of her face, still beaming up at him. “—found a cookbook.”

He looked it over. The cover just said, _This Book’s Got Italian Recipes!_ “Oh, yeah,” he said. “That’s a book, alright.”

”Obviously I need to work on my cooking,” she said. “But you’ve been so nice to help me in the kitchen this far, and I thought you might know a thing or two about this, so you could help me more!”

”Oh.” He looked it over. “...Niffty, babe, I—“ Niffty’s expression didn’t falter. “...Sure.”

”Really?” She clasped her hands together happily, still looking up at him. “Tomorrow then?”

”Ain’t like I got anythin’ better to do anyways, baby,” he said. “Sure.”

“No—I dunno what the book said, Nifft.” He took the salt from her and upended it over the pot. “But I don’t care ‘cause I’m right, you’re usin’ _way_ too little.”

Niffty frowned. “But then, what about the measurements—“

”It’s salt—it’s just, in the water, you need the water salty as shit, okay? I’m right.” Niffty nodded. “And don’t go puttin’ olive oil in the water or some shit—people say it makes the noodles not stick together, but all it really does is prevent the sauce from stickin’ to the noodles, and you start by boilin’ the noodles in the water, and then you finish them in the sauce.”

”...Jello’s a lot less complicated than this,” Niffty said.

”And you _always_ smash the garlic,” he said.

Niffty nodded. “Right. Where’d you learn all this anyway?”

He shrugged—there was never really a specific time where he had learned it, it had just kind of happened. A few bits of things he had picked up over the years with his family, back _home_.

...Ugh. When he said the word, it left a bad taste in his mouth. _Thinking_ it felt like he shoved a spoon in his head and stirred. “Family was Italian,” he said. “My mom was a pretty good cook— said she always kind of wanted to be a housewife, she liked cookin’ and shit.”

His father had said that that was one of the things that had made him fall in love—he’d always wondered what he meant by that. If it was one of the, then there was something else too, and his father wouldn’t have married her only for her culinary skills, because his mother wasn’t the _best_ , and he could always have hired a cook.

But when his parents talked about how much they had adored each other before they got married (and continued to adore each other throughout their marriage, as far as he knew anyway), his father always said that _x_ was one of the things that had made him fall in love with her, so in the end, he could never be sure. It was just as likely to be her cooking skills as it was to be how pretty she made her hair look every day, or that she had a laugh like a barking dog, or that she adored when other people played music or danced or sung but was terrible when she did it herself—his mother went on and on about how she had loved the strong, silent type of man, and how she loved his father’s hands, and the sound of his voice and the way he held her like she was the most important thing in the world to him and she had never felt safer or more loved.

Maybe they had just fallen in love with every little thing about the other. _Christ,_ he thought. _The fact that they were a lovely couple almost makes up for how shitty they were as parents._

They had been terrible parents—nothing like some ankle biters to ruin date night, he guessed, he wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t actually wanted kids... But even then, they had had their moments. His mother had loved it when one of her children helped her in the kitchen, would swear up and down to whoever was assisting her that they were her _favorite_ , and his father hadn’t been the affectionate sort but had still occasionally had nice things to say, praise to give to his children. He had used to baby Miele, rolled his eyes when people heard her name and never pronounced it right, and...

Thinking about home made his heart ache like he missed it, and his stomach ache like he was sick, but maybe he was just hungry.

”You okay?” Niffty asked, looking up at him. “You got all... still.”

He did. He grabbed a wooden spoon and stirred a pot on the stove. “It’s nothin’, babe, just thinkin’.”

She rocked on her heels for a moment, like she was trying to move, before grabbing a washcloth and wiping some flour off the counter. “I hope it’s not too rude to ask, but... when did you...” She hesitated a moment. “...you know...croak?”

”Late forties,” he responded. “Forty seven. When did _you_ kick the bucket?”

”Fifty two,” she says. “I’m...” She blinks for a moment. “...not entirely sure what happened. I don’t think I want to be, anyway, I really don’t want to know, I don’t...” She takes a deep breath. “...What do we do next?”

He looked at the pot. “The water isn’t boilin’ enough yet, so it’s kinda just a waitin’ game right now.” He wasn’t stupid—he had noticed Niffty had changed the subject. Whatever it was that had happened, he didn’t think he should judge; overdosing had been a terrible way to go out, and then he was _out_ but... _up_ , and then that bullet had him put down. Just thinking about it makes his head hurt, like he’s somehow feeling the bullet go through his skull all over again. “Ya never made somethin’ as simple as spaghetti before?”

Niffty shook her head, straightened her skirt. “Nope—my mother made all meals, and she... She had a bunch of recipes from Japan, I guess, but she never put them to use, never taught me them. She was always tired, too, so she just kinda wanted to make it all quick.”

”Huh,” he said. “...But ya like to cook and clean, right? How come ya never taught yourself any other recipes?”

She fixed her kerchief—she was just looking for something to do, to keep her hands busy. “...I... didn’t do a whole lot of... _anything_... for at least a few decades...This is one of the few things I’ve done in... a... while.” Her words were uncharacteristically slow.

He was _just_ trying to make conversation! Why was it all so heavy? “...Well,” he said. “Good thing you’re here. It must be exhaustin’ bein’ the hottest person in this joint, Niffty—I don’t wanna have ta deal with all that.”

She giggled and stood on her toes trying to look at the pot again. “Is it boiling?” She asked. “I can’t tell. We should really invest in a ladder or something, or a step stool—something, you know, so I don’t have to do parkour to get to the sink, because the sink is too tall for me.” Angel went ahead and picked her up. “Oh, wow, thanks! I think it’s boiling?”

Usually, he waited longer than this, but not that much longer, and so long as he didn’t go back to talking to Niffty about insanely heavy topics. “It’s boiling,” he said. Niffty eagerly grabbed the spaghetti noodles to put them in. “Tell me more ‘bout that one fanfiction you’re writin’,” he said, because that probably wasn’t nearly as dark as when they died and shit.

A lot of what she said was nothing like what he expected to hear. “Why do ya know so much about Jack the Ripper?” He asked.

”My father bought me this _giant_ book when I was a kid, probably like twelve or something, all about serial killers—like, the ones that were never caught, and the more gruesome kills—I had _really_ morbid interests as a kid, I used to like, burn ants with magnifying glasses and stuff, and pull the legs off of insects, and I liked horror a bit too much when I was a bit too young for the stuff I was reading—but it’s given me a weird amount of knowledge on serial killers? Oh, that makes me sound crazy, but I _swear_ I’m not, and it’s not like, _about_ Jack the Ripper, it just has way too many references to him—and this one person is finding all of them, and points them out in the comments, and it’s so cool, and I really like them, I thought I was being stupid with my serial killer references.”

”God,” he said. “You’re... You’re a character, Niffty.”

”I am!” She chirped. There was a bit of silence. “...Are you religious at all?” She asked.

He frowned. “Not much o’ use, in bein’ religious...” He gestured around them. “My parents used ta make me go to church.” He hadn’t had anything against religion, but he had mostly thought it religious, and when he was old enough to fully grasp his father’s job and the family business and what family he was growing up in, he had seriously begun to wonder why they had even gone to church. “Never felt there was a point, it felt more like—like no one actually believed in whatever the pastor or whatever was sayin’, more like people were there ‘cause...” He struggled to put it into words.

It was a facade, he thought. A way to look good, _seem_ good, without really needing to _be_ good. His father had never been too kind to their neighbors, didn’t shy away from getting his hands dirty, even if it got bloody—but they went, still. Even when there had been those rumors, about the pastor, they had continued to go—he had told him to never be in the same room alone with him. To stick close to Miele/Molly, or to his brother, or his parents, just to not trust him.

He also faintly remembered hearing about someone taking a shotgun to the bastard’s knees and head.

Niffty hummed. “I always kinda wanted to go to church,” she said. “Never really got around to going, not even when I was married.” She sighed. “...Shame too—there was that one church near my childhood home, and it was beautiful, I dreamed about getting hitched there when I was younger... It never happened.” She grabbed onto the edge of the counter and pulled herself closer to the stove, somehow managing to stay balanced—Angel guessed that when you were as short as Niffty, you had to get some upper body strength to manage things like this. “...You think that might have played a role in me getting sent to hell?” She asked. “Doesn’t the Bible say atheists would go to Hell?”

He shrugged. “I mean, it might be the atheism, but I think it’s the murders that got me burnin’ here.”

Niffty froze. “Burning...?”

Her grip must have loosened on the counter, because she fell—and managed to take the pot of boiling water with her.

For a minute, he also froze—Niffty laid there on the floor, dripping and steaming and the kitchen was flooded with burning hot water.

Just as quickly as she had froze, she unfroze and jumped to her feet. “ _Ohhhh_ , man, that was—“ She cursed, quietly, beneath her breath, expression almost panicked. “I’m so sorry, Angel, I don’t know what—“ She stopped herself, grabbed his hand. “I’ll go ahead and take care of this—you aren’t hurt or anything, are you?” Her hands were hot. This was not the right reaction to spilling six liters of boiling water on yourself. “I’m sorry, you should go change out of your boots or something.” He should, because they were soaked and hot and his feet hurt—on that note, Niffty should have promptly changed out of her clothes and probably got some ice for her burns, but she just ushered him out. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened, I’ll clean this all up.”

”...Niffty, are—“

”My fault,” she said. “It was my fault. Sorry, Angel Dust—I can take care of this.” She tugged him out of the kitchen, and turned back on her heel swiftly, muting words beneath her breath about cleaning.

...He really needed a shot.

The entirety of the next day, Niffty spent in bed, after mopping up all the water on the floor. Angel still kind of felt guilty or whatever the fuck he said that had Niffty reacting that way, so he drowned that guilt in vodka before work, and he almost felt better.

”I don’t wanna go ta work,” he told Husk.

”Yeah,” he said. “And I don’t want to lose my nine limes behind the bar.”

”Nuggs is a stress eater,” he said. “He’s been stressed, so he eats your limes.” He rubs his temple. “I don’t like work, I don’t want to go, I’m too drunk, but I’m not high enough.”

”You’re not even eating anything,” Husk said. “What happened to the three meals a day thing?”

”I gained four pounds, so I stopped.” He finished his drink—he felt slightly tipsy, but it wasn’t enough. Worse though, it didn’t matter, he had to get to work anyway. “Didn’t realize it ‘til last night, but if I gain anymore weight, Val will pull my arms off o’ my body for not followin’ my diet.”

Vaggie seemed to appear out of nowhere. “You’re on a diet?”

”Yeah,” he said. “Difficult bein’ this hot, just ask Niffty—not all o’ us can eat _three square meals_ a day an’ still have small waists.” He rubbed at his eyes. He was _really_ tired.

She looked at him flatly. “...If you’re gaining weight because you’re eating three square meals a day, then you probably didn’t have a healthy weight before you gained any.”

”No,” he said—in his head, he agreed that made sense, but he wasn’t about to admit it, and wasn’t about to tell Valentino that. _I skipped the diet ‘cause I choose bein’ healthy over lookin’ good for the camera_ —Valentino would freak, and probably leave Angel drinking the rest of his meals through a straw for a few years—which might make him stop eating and would prevent him from gaining weight, like he’d want. “...No,” he repeated.

”You’re skinny as _fuck_ ,” Husk said.

”Good, I’m s’posed ta be.” Fuck, he was tired. “Shit, I better go.” He made a move to hand Fat Nuggets over to Husk, but he stopped—something shifted in the air.

Oh, fuck.

_Alastor._

He walked into the lobby, humming some old song, every few other notes punctuated by a pop of static. He instantly remembered what Charlie had said about him, and while half of him thought Charlie had been being weird, the other half told him he was about one broken glass at the wrong time from breaking and falling off the clean, rehab wagon. He felt himself stiffen.

...Didn’t Alastor expect him to fail? That was the whole reason he was there, to see them fail with their stupid little redemption plan—fuck. He didn’t think he was in the right headspace to be able to fucking deal with him right now—he’d either just... die all over again, right there, or he’d try to murder Alastor, which would almost definitely result in dying eventually.

He handed the pig to Husk. “If anythin’ happens to my pig, Husky, I’ll burn this hotel to the ground.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re too flammable for that right now, Legs—try not to keel over on your way to work.”

Valentino was usually pretty busy—Angel wished he was more busy, because he should find better uses of his time then dragging Angel into his office, especially since Angel was pretty sure he only did it to intimidate him, and honestly, it wasn’t that necessary, since he was already pretty intimidated by him.

”Angelcakes,” he drawled. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

He swallowed thickly—only because he was. “It’s nothin’, Val.”

Val smiled—Angel got the feeling it didn’t really meet his eyes behind the pink lenses of his cheap-ass, tacky glasses. “Baby, you know better than to lie to me.” He cupped his chin—Angel tried not to grimace at the touch, he didn’t want to think about how much that’d piss him off. “Withdrawals?”

”N-No—I mean, I...” He wasn’t high enough for this, _couldn’t_ be high enough for this. “...The... The broads at the hotel I’m stayin’ at want me to get clean,” he said. It was a lie—he chose this, but... goddamnit, if Val thought out he was getting clean. “...I’ven’t managed to get a fix in a lil’ over three weeks.”

His stomach tied itself into a knot. “Well, there’s an easy fix for that, isn’t there, Angel Cakes?” A thumb ran over his lips—he felt _sick_. “All you have to do is ask _nicely_.”

No. No. _No._ “...They’ll know,” he said, weakly. “They... won’t like me bein’ off the wagon, like that...”

”You don’t _want_ to get clean now, do you, Angel Cakes?”

No.

_No_ , he _didn’t_.

”I’ll ask again, baby—do you want to get clean?”

_No._ He didn’t, he really, really didn’t, but he was so _sick_ of letting Val do this to him—drugs got him into this, if he had just waited a _day_ like he had thought—

This was his own damn fault! He had been so stupid to think he could trust someone like Val, trust himself when he was drunk and high and never wanted to sober up, to think that he’d be more than happy to work for Valentino for _only_ a century—and it had been stupid to think he had had a chance of getting clean. No. Little over three weeks, and he was ready to give in just like this—he was an _idiot_.

”I don’t,” he said.

”Very good, darlin’. What do we say when we want something, baby cakes?”

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._ He swallowed—his mouth felt dry, his chest felt tight. “...Please, Daddy?”

Husk stared at him when he came in, but neither of them said anything. Angel wasn’t in the mood to flirt—he was higher than the fucking ceiling, than the fucking _sky_ , and he still somehow felt weirdly... _low_. Maybe it was the added three years to his debt after tonight, or the fact that he knew he’d never be high enough to get the feeling of Valentino’s hands off of his body. 

He got the feeling Husk knew, by just looking at him. Wordlessly, he handed the pig to him. Angel’s voice came out mumbled, but he was pretty sure he thanked Husk.

They continued to stare at each other. A door somewhere opened—without even turning to look, Husk said, “Go find somewhere else to be a jackass, you son of a bitch.”

” _Husker, my fellow—since you seem to have some time on your hands—“_ He cut himself off, and looked at Angel Dust.

He brought his pig slightly closer to his chest. Fat Nuggets didn’t seem to mind. He swore Alastor’s grin sharpened—instead of staying down here, Angel decided to just go to bed. Cuddling his pig in bed sounded better than drinking, anyway.

He swore he heard Alastor laughing as he went back to his room.

”Holy shit, Angie,” Cherri said, elbows resting on the edge of the building, legs stretched in front of her—it was weirdly windy today, but honestly, the cold almost felt good.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “...Val gave me the day off, though—not sure if it’s ‘cause he decided he felt bad for me, or ‘cause I’m pretty sure the next porno I’m doin’ is some weirdass, BDSM gangbang, but, the important thing is, I don’t have to see his stupid face.” He always forgot how long his legs were in comparison to Cherri’s until they sat side by side like this and he saw the comparison—he made her look short.

“That’s something, at least.”

It was, he guessed. “‘Least you tried,” Cherri said.

“Ugh,” he responded. “I don’t know why I even bothered tryin’. It’s not like it actually matters, I’m...” He trailed off. “...It was a stupid idea.”

Cherri pursed her lips—but didn’t question it, and he was glad, because he didn’t need a therapy session, not when he was going to the group therapy thing Charlie was having in a week. God—why did he agree to go to those things?

He had left early this morning so he didn’t have to look at anyone (except Husk when he had given him Fat Nuggets to watch), but he hadn’t left quick enough. Niffty had given him the saddest smile in the hallway, he swore he had heard Alastor laughing about something while Husk told him to shut it, and right before he had gotten out the door, Charlie had stopped him just to say that, as disappointing as it was, it was perfectly normal to fall off the wagon a few times, and she believed they could still do it, if Angel was up for it.

He had left before he could respond—he wasn’t up for it, but he kind of had to do it, anyways.

He looked at the buildings below—across the street was various businesses, demons milled about the street on their merry little ways in their not so merry little afterlives. Cherri followed his gaze, moving slightly closer to him: she smelled like black cherries, because she had went out with him once and bought a perfume that smelled like black cherries and laughed about it for thirty minutes (“Because... my name?”). “What are you looking at?” She asked.

His gaze went to a building—with a giant, black X painted over a doorway. “Oh, shit,” he said.

Cherri frowned. “What?”

“I might be wrong,” he said. “...But I think my family’s got a grudge against whatever sap’s runnin’ that place.”He gestured to the X. “Not sure if they still do it, but like, back in the forties, I remember that was how we marked places we were gonna fuckin’ burn down.”

“Really?” She asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think it was some sorta intimidation tactic—it was a warning. If they didn’t fix whatever had pissed my father off, then...” He shrugged. “It was a thing—I think he did it when joes didn’t pay their insurance and shit, mostly.” He glanced around—there was something wet on the sidewalk around it. “...Ha, that idiot in there’s about to die.”

As if on cue, there was a flash from across the street—Angel knew how this worked, they had probably soaked that building in gasoline earlier this morning. Near immediately, flames licked up and consumed the building, jumping into the air—a handful of people ran out screaming. The people that were already on the street, walking somewhere from somewhere else continued to remain calm. Most didn’t bat an eye on what was happening. “Oh, wow,” Cherri said. “...Holy shit.”

And there, on the side walk, was his brother—Arackniss stood, smoking a cigarette as he watched that painted X burn. “Yep,” he said—a small, small part of him was glad that even all this time later, he still remembered some things about his life, like the X’s. “Wonder what dumbass pissed them off.”

Angel would have been perfectly content to continue on with his day without Arackniss seeing him, but apparently, he noticed he was being watched. It didn’t take him long to look up, at the rooftop of some abandoned building and find him and Cherri.

Neither of them said anything—but Angel knew Arackniss recognized him. His expression didn’t change as he stared up at them, took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled the smoke through his nose, before turning down the sidewalk, muttering something beneath his breath.

“I take it back, Angie,” Cherri said. “He’s not cute at all, he’s a massive douche.”

“He is,” Angel said. “Fuck him.”

“Nah,” Cherri said. “You asked me not to. Next time I see him, though, I’ll beat him up for you.”

“This,” Angel said. “This is why we’re friends.”

Charlie had hoped they’d have at least a _little_ more progress by now, but she was trying hard to still focus on the improvement they’d been doing. 

Outside, the Exorcists were going crazy—she had the feeling this E-Day was gonna be worse than usual, but they always felt like they were getting worse. The fact that she knew most people she knew herself were safe inside the hotel was cold comfort—she was glad, really, really glad, that Vaggie and Angel Dust and Niffty and Husk and even Alastor were, for sure, safe from Extermination Day, but there was thousands of other demons outside the hotel who were suffering and dying, and it made it difficult to be comfortable.

Vaggie rested her hand on her arm, gently. “It’s okay, hon,” she said, even though it wasn’t.

”I know,” Charlie responded. “I know we’re safe in here.”

”Yeah,” Vaggie said. “And it’s temporary. We’ll figure this out.” She pulled Charlie closer, squeezing gently. “ _Eres mi todo_.”

Charlie didn’t know what it meant, but she loved it when Vaggie spoke Spanish—there was a weird sort of beauty in languages you didn’t understand. She thought she heard _my_ in there, but it was kind of nice to know that Vaggie loved her, no matter how she said it.

Niffty was happily crunching on some ice by the bar while Husky looked at her like he was waiting for her to choke. Angel was holding Fat Nuggets close to him, looking high though he kept reminding everyone he was so not high it was painful. Fuck knew where Alastor was.

She had spent all of yesterday, making sure they were stocked up on alcohol and fireworks, because those two things went hand in hand, obviously. She didn’t have much else to do—no one really wanted to do anything, but drown out the noises outside.

There was a scream somewhere out in the streets, and against her better judgement, Charlie pried herself out of Vaggie’s loving arms and moved to the window, if only to pull the curtains shut. It did nothing for the screaming, but she didn’t want to get any sort of glimpses of the violence on the streets.

On the couch of the lobby, Vaggie tugged at the hem of her dress, eyes on her knees and immediately, Charlie felt guilty. As much as she hated E-Days, they were arguably worse for Vaggie—she was safe _now,_ but her first moments in Hell had been the unsafest moments any unfortunate demon could have, and it had been a miracle Vaggie had survived—what kind of a girlfriend would Charlie be if she didn’t comfort Vaggie right now?

She moved back to her, grasped her hand, silently.

There was a special sort of pain in watching your world burn around you and knowing you were completely, totally, unfairly safe.

Niffty sighed. “And I thought Hell was a myth,” she said. “Like, like dragons! And empathy!”

Everyone turned to look at her. “...Niffty,” Husk started. “...Empathy’s not a myth.”

Niffty blinked. “...What?”

”Empathy’s a real thing.”

”No? I don’t have any empathy? You mean people seriously like—“ She made a vague gesture. “—do the empathy things?”

The empathy things. Everyone was staring at her. “...You mean it’s not like...” She went quiet. “...Oh.” She frowned. “ _Oh._ ”

Husk poured her some soda. “Let’s talk about this some other time, kid.”

The hotel went near silent, except for the soundtrack of torture outside. Charlie occupied herself with running her thumb over Vaggie’s knuckles and humming gently—Vaggie relaxed beside her. It almost took her mind off of things.

Angel sighed. “Jesus fuck, I need a drink.” Husk was already pouring him one.

Wordlessly, Vaggie pointed to the jar on the corner of the bar counter—their newest attempt to try and get Angel redeemed, and it was literally just a swear jar. Angel groaned and went rifling through his top. “How much was that?”

”I put a label on the jar,” Charlie said—the screaming outside briefly got louder, so she briefly spoke louder. “Like a conversion chart.” _Jesus fuck_ was two dollars, along with _Fuck me,_ _fuck you,_ and—Vaggie’s least favorite— _fuck this bullshit, Jesus fucking Christ_ , which he said the most often.

”I’m gonna go clean something!” Niffty decided, throwing an ice cube into her mouth and hopping down from the counter, running off somewhere.

“The fuck are we gonna use all the money in Angel’s swear jar for, anyway?” Husk asked, pushing a glass over to Angel. “You’re racking up a small fortune.”

“Niffty needs a new laptop,” Charlie said. “For her fanfiction. Alastor and I agreed she needs a break, because he was right—she is a little darling.” A little darling with no empathy. “And after we buy her a laptop, whatever’s left—“ Because there definitely was going to be some left, with how often Angel cursed. “—is going to be set aside to either improve on the hotel, or find some sort of reward for when Angel’s half a year clean.”

”Gotta love Niffty,” Angel said, shoved his hand back in his cleavage. “Niffty’s the closest fucking thing to an angel in this dump.” He pulled out a dollar and put it in the jar before downing his drink.

His phone vibrated and Angel winced before visibly relaxing. “I better go take this,” he sighed, getting to his feet. “C’mon, Nuggs, we’re gonna go talk to Auntie Cherri.”

Vaggie turned her head to watch him go back to his room. “What’s up with him?”

Husk snorted. “He’s five months clean, of course he’s miserable right now.”

”Well, yeah, but...” Vaggie frowned. “He’s been acting off.”

”Because he’s not high,” Husk said, and took a swig off of the same bottle of whiskey he’d been nursing for a few hours. “I don’t know how he’s survived, but he has—maybe that’s all we really need to know.”

”Can’t,” he sighed, propping himself up in bed. “It wouldn’t fly over here ta get caught up in another turf war, otherwise, believe me, Sugartits, I’d love ta give ya some backup.”

” _Damn,”_ Cherri said. “ _That sucks, would have been nice to hang out with you.”_

”Yeah,” he said. “But Charlie’s sad enough as is with the extermination goin’ on, and if I ruin the hotel’s reputation anymore...” That and, as he thought about it more, the nicer it really was to know more queer people. Charlie was bi, Vaggie was gay like him, Husk was pan—it was just nice to have gay friends, when you were gay yourself. He just wanted to surround himself in gay people, so he could bite back all that internalized shit he had from life, and being at the hotel was helping with that. He wouldn’t want to risk getting thrown out for some stupid brawl. “Plus, let’s be honest here, you can take _anyone_ in Hell in a fight.”

Cherri laughed. “ _Alright then—I guess I’ll manage. And I’ll forgive you, if you send no less than five... no, nine,_ nine _photos of Fat Nuggets.”_

”Damn,” he said. “I was hoardin’ all them for myself, he’s too cute for your singular eye, you’re gonna look at ‘em, and you’re gonna fuckin’ explode, that’s how cute my pig is.”

” _It’d be worth it, that’s how cute your pig is.”_

”Nuggs—come to Mama, Nuggs, c’mere.” He snorted and crawled on over, letting Angel snap a picture real quick, before he knew what was happening. “I’ll work on sendin’ the other eight to ya, but here’s one.”

Cherri was quiet for a moment. “ _Oh no, it’s happening—I’m exploding from your pigs’ cuteness.”_

”I knew I was right.”

_”So was I, because it is worth it.”_

His phone vibrated. “Fuck,” he breathed.

” _What is it?”_

”Valentino’s callin’,” he said. “I gotta go. I’ll send ya pictures later, promise _.”_

_”Okay, then—talk later, Angie.”_

Five months. He was successfully clean for five months. Not even the “sorta” clean he had been last year, the whole, actual clean he was, he _was actually fucking clean._

Already, he needed to get back to work—Val had explicitly told him that street walking would not fly, he just needed to get his ass back to the studio, so they could finish up some scenes in some fuck film.

It was always difficult to go about your day after E-Days—corpses were in the streets, usually either homeless demons or suicidal ones, and sometimes just unlucky ones. People fought to the death over any scrap of Heaven’s steel they could get. Some demons were mourning. And then, of course, there was always those turf wars that happened between demons, clawing for whatever scraps they could get in the resulting chaos—he didn’t _need_ to worry about Cherri, but he still kind of did.

The studio was the same as it always was—unbelievably shiny, modern, and irrelevant. It always felt like Angel was too busy to ever get a good look at anything that wasn’t whatever set he was in, or his dressing room, or that hallway Val’s office was in.

Sometimes, he forgot how much he hated work.

_Some things never change,_ he thought to himself—even in life, he had hated his job. He had always kind of known he wouldn’t thrive in the family business. He had survived, for the most part _(up until he_ _didn’t_.), but he had hated it—not even because of the people he hurt and or killed, no, nothing like that, he just loathed the man his family wanted him to be, the role he was being forced into. He had never wanted to be like his father, or his brother, and they had never understood him, and he didn’t need to be understood, half the time he could barely bring himself to care what they thought of him, and the other half, he cared so much he felt sick—and he had just needed a break, he had needed the world to quit spinning, for people to stop looking at him, speaking to him—

...Arriving in Hell had been a relief. He had suddenly been able to embrace his identity—and it had come with, what was essentially a rebellious streak, because the entire time he had been giving lap dances and oral to whatever man gave him a cent, he had been thinking about how much his family would have hated to see what he’d become and it had made him feel amazing—

He still didn’t mind stripping. He didn’t mind the lap dances. He didn’t mind web cams. Honestly, he kind of enjoyed it all, and he thought his porn was honestly kind of fun to do sometimes—but he was back in that mindset, in that same place he had been when he overdosed.

Something was expected of him, and for one reason or another, he _had_ to do it—there was no room for arguing. There was no escape, no breaks, no nothing, except, at least, before, his overdose had been an escape.

There was no overdosing in Hell. There was just about no death. There was nothing and everything and too much and too little, all at the same time, and he was so, so sick of it all—

And here he was five months clean. Bankrupt, too sober to be happy, homesick in a way he didn’t want to get into, and five months clean, there he was, right outside of Valentino’s office.

He took a deep breath—he knew what Valentino liked. The quicker he gave in, the quicker Valentino would let him go, so he just had to give Valentino what he wanted, and hide the fact he was five months clean, and avoid pissing him off.

That was all easier said than done.

The moment he stepped into Val’s office, he knew something was wrong—the whole room smelled like Valentino’s cigars, and he knew that while Valentino smoked a lot, it increased ten fold when he was stressed, or angry. His gaze snapped up to the door, eyes focused on him when he entered.

Something was really, _really_ wrong.

Valentino gestured to the chair across from him—great. Silence. Because Angel definitely wanted to focus on the sound of his heart, pounding in his chest while Valentino waited to say anything.

He sat down, folded his hands into his lap. “You... needed somethin’?”

“One chance,” Valentino said. He fixed his glasses.

He swallowed. “One chance for what...?”

“Admit it,” he said. Angel didn’t know what he was talking about, didn’t understand what he was getting at. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, didyou, baby?”

“...I-I’m sorry, boss, I... I dunno what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

“And you lost your chance.” He sighed and lit another cigar. “Did you forget, baby? I’ve been waitin’ to see how long you keep this up—I thought, for sure, you’d fess up and tell me eventually, Angel Cakes. I haven’t forgotten.”

His heart skipped a beat. “...Forgotten what?”

He tapped some ash off, meeting Angel’s eyes. “About the club you and your friend destroyed.”

Oh.   
  


Shit.

_FUCK_.

He didn’t know what to do. What to say. His heart slammed into his stomach, all he could do was breathe, “What?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice, sweetheart?” He asked. “I knew you were angry, baby, but I didn’t think you were angry enough to not think straight—and in the same week, one of my clubs is destroyed, with no security footage or any sort of witnesses. It wasn’t too difficult to connect the dots.”

“How do you...?” Fuck, did he _want_ to know?

“Let’s not get too into this, Angel Cakes—you knew this was going to happen, didn’t you? You knew I’d figure it out, you must have known how angry I’d be. Was it worth it, baby? Gettin’ back at me, destroying one of my top clubs just to feel slightly better about what I did?” He leaned back in his chair. “I was glad when you stopped complaining about it, but I would have rather had you bitchin’ about it—“

“You _raped_ me.”

“It’s your job,” Val told him. “I pay you for it, Angel.”

“You don’t pay me at all.”

“Baby—do you really want to have this conversation now? You don’t really think now’s a good time to bring this up, do you?” He went silent. “That’s about what I thought. I feel like I’ve given you plenty of time to tell me about it, and you haven’t. Maybe, if you had told me yourself, I’d go easy on you, but you didn’t.” His hands curled into fists on his knees—he told himself to focus on the feeling of his gloves on his hands, something to keep him grounded. “...What were you thinkin’, Angel? Did you want me to find out?”

No. He hadn’t. He didn’t. _Fuck_.

“Why won’t you answer me, baby? I don’t like being ignored.” He reached over and cupped his chin again. “ _What_ were you thinking?”

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He hated it when Val got this angry, because this was a specific level of anger where no words could describe his anger, so he just got quiet instead. “It—It was my idea, Val.” His legs wouldn’t stop shaking—so many years under Valentino, and he never got used to this. “I... I was angry, and I got drunk, and she... she was just trying to make me feel better, she said she’d help me, but it was my idea, mine, I was...It was stupid.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you, sweetheart?”

“No!” He lied. “I mean...” Valentino didn’t like being told no. He felt short of breath, he just stared down at his knees. “I’m sorry, Mista Valentino, I really am.”

“I’m gonna make you sorry, baby, don’t you worry.” He flicked a piece of ash at his face—it burned, he managed to brush it away and just told himself to be grateful it didn’t get an eye. “Hypothetically,” he started. “If I was to call your friend right now, and tell her all about how I know my favorite star’s been lying to me, and that I know he destroyed one of my best clubs, do you think she’d agree with you?”

“Yes,” he said, even though he knew it wasn’t true.

“Do you think...” He took a long, thoughtful drag. “If I were to tell her just how exactly I plan to punish you for being such a destructive, irritating little _bitch_ , she’d continue to say it was your idea?”

“...We were both pretty drunk,” he said. “...She probably... doesn’t remember it all perfectly.”

Valentino grinned. “Is that so?”

He forced himself to nod.

“Give me one reason to not add a few thousand years to your contract, baby.”

God. He felt sick. He wondered if he could just pass out now, let the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness wash away the pain, if only for a moment. “It’s pointless,” he said.

That had his attention—he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not, a good sort of attention. “Why, baby? Why is it pointless?”

“We both already know ya own my soul as long as I’m in debt—I’m only gettin’ more in debt, the longer this contract goes. ...Ya never intended this contract to end.”

“I gotta hand it to you, Angel Cakes,” he said. “You can be smart when you need to be. But I think a few thousand might be a good idea—not because I expect you to make me the amount of money you have been a few thousand years from now, because by then, I fully expect you to be replaced with one of my other, newer whores—no, baby, I just want to make sure you learn a lesson out of this.” He reached beneath his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I think three would work, don’t you?”

“V-Val—“

“You’re right, Angel Cakes, you’re gonna need at least four. Maybe five, so we’ll know it sticks, because if it doesn’t stick, that _would_ make it pointless, and I don’t like it when you waste my time, baby.” He kept silent—if he said anything wrong now, he was pretty sure Valentino would murder him, which was less than ideal. “...Of course, I might be willing to go with one if you behave yourself.” He didn’t want to speak—he’d just piss off Valentino. “I’m gettin’ pretty sick of you staying in that run down hotel, anyway.”

Of course. Of course—it came back to the hotel. Angel’d been spending too much time away from the studio, and Valentino wanted to fix that. And this gave him the chance to—how long had he been holding onto this club, knowing he could hold it over Angel’s head like this?

He tried not to slump into his chair—he was defeated, but him and Val already knew that, he didn’t need to look the part, if he already _was_ the part. “...What do you want, Val?”

“Baby cakes,” he started. “Move back into the studio. Obviously you’re not happy at thehotel, and I’d like to keep an eye on you. You don’t have to get clean at the studio. All you need to do is finish up your contract here for your room, you know that.”

“I... I can’t—“ Valentino grinned—because he knew exactly how to get Angel to do exactly what he wanted. “...But the...”

“What, Angel Cakes?” ...He couldn’t refuse, he knew he couldn’t, but fuck, he didn’t _want this_.

He swallowed his pride—going along with what Valentino wanted was always easier. “...Whatever you want, Mista Valentino.”

“Good boy.” Valentino pinched his cheek with one hand, still smoking his cigar. “Do you know what I want, Angie, baby?” He shook his head, because at this point, saying no was just asking for it. “I want you back in the studio by this time tomorrow, all ready to be good for me, and I want to make sure nothing like this ever happens again—now, what do you think would be the best idea to keep you in line?” He didn’t have an answer. “...So quiet, baby—you know I pay you to make noise, right, Angel Cakes?” He reached over, tugged the choker on his neck up and pressed the lit end of his cigar into his neck—he didn’t bother hiding how much he liked Angel’s hiss of pain. “That’s much better. Good boy.” He let go again. “I’ll think it over—we’ll figure something out, won’t we, baby?”

Angel tugged the choker back down over the burn—it hurt, but he knew he was supposed to keep it covered. “Do not disappoint me, Angie.”

“...Yes, sir.” He got to his feet, tried not to shake when he stood—it’d only encourage Valentino.

“This time tomorrow,” Valentino reminded him.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re leaving?”

Charlie gaped up at him—he was glad that he was back at the hotel, and wasn’t bleeding or limping, but... after today...

He crossed his arms—he was so uncomfortable talking about this. He had asked Charlie to speak with him in private, he wanted to kind of keep this on the downlow, but... He couldn’t shake the guilt he felt. “It’s just... I...” He didn’t know how to explain this, he couldn’t put it into words.

“But you’ve been doing so good!” Charlie said. “Five months clean, you’ve been drinking less, you’ve been so nice to Niffty—I thought you...” She trailed off. “...Does... this have to do with work?”

He hadn’t brought up his work in awhile. He was worried he’d say something he shouldn’t, and he didn’t like the idea of everyone in this hotel knowing that he was Valentino’s fuck toy, bitch, and punching bag all rolled into one. He could admit Valentino was a fuckwad, and that he hated his contract, but too many details, and he just sounded _pathetic_. “No,” he lied. “It’s just...” He couldn’t really think of an excuse. “It... It wasn’t the right time, I guess, ya...ya don’t—“

Charlie looked crestfallen. “Is... there anything we can do, Angel? To get you to stay? If there’s anything we can fix, we can help with...” She reached and grabbed a pair of his hands, gently. “We want to help you, Angel Dust. Really.”

He yanked his hands away. “There’s nothin’ to help with, toots. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be moved into the studio.” ...Fat Nuggets would hate it. He would hate it. He could kiss his social (after)life goodbye. And what about Cherri?

“...Really?” Charlie asked. “...Oh.”

“Listen, Charlie, I...” He glanced around—no one else was in here, no one else would hear him. It was just him and Charlie, and that made it easier, because he felt so unbelievably _stupid_ for so many reasons right now. “...Your hotel ain’t a joke, alright? I dunno if redemption is actually possible, but your heart’s in the right place, and whatever jackoff wants to disagree with you on it can shove it. ...You’re a good dame, Charlie, really—and... I didn’t hate it here.”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” she said. “I thought you were making such good progress.”

He had been. “I was,” he admitted, and he swallowed the lump in his throat, because this hotel couldn’t be that much of a dump if a little part of him thought of it as home. “...I... Maybe, at some point... in the future, I can try this again.” If the hotel was even open at that point, he’d be back at the studio for a long time. Couldn’t even really die like this, but already, he really did think he was gonna die before he ever found his way out.

Charlie nodded, blinking like she was gonna cry—Angel recognized it because he had seen the same look on Miele’s face, when _she_ was this upset, and god, did he hate that look. “Alright then.”

It was not fair—she didn’t get to be on the verge of tears, not when _he_ was holding them back. “...I’m sorry,” he said.

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” Charlie said, wiped at her eyes with her sleeve—fuck, she had some thick eyelashes. Fuck her dewey little doe eyes, Angel didn’t want this either. “Maybe... now just wasn’t a good time for you, but... Angel Dust, if you ever want to come back, you’ll be welcomed with open arms, I promise—and if you need _anything_ from us, I really mean anything...”

“Okay,” he said—he almost said that he did want to stay, but that wasn’t going to do anything. Charlie couldn’t invent a time machine and slap some sense into Angel Dust before he signed his soul away for a century plus.

“...Tell us if you need help packing, okay?”

“Bullshit,” he muttered. “This is bullshit.”

He folded his clothes into his suitcase—fuck, he forgot how many clothes he had. For the most part, they were gifts from Johns or Val when he was in a good mood and wanted to pretend “ _good_ ” meant “ _generous_.”

He sat down on his bed and rubbed his temples. Fat Nuggets was already catching on to what was happening, snorting and huffing on the bed like he was trying to protest. “I know, Nuggs,” he said, petting him. “Mama’s not happy ‘bout this either.” He picked him up and set him down in his lap—he didn’t like when Valentino got angry, because then he got violent, and he took it out on whoever got too close.

...He didn’t know if Nuggs would be safe at the studio. Could he keep Fat Nuggets safe when he knew he wouldn’t be safe himself?

He didn’t like that thought, but he had to think about it—he was a mama! He needed to be mature about this. How could he keep his pig safe?

Fuck, he needed a drink—but he needed to pack. He didn’t want to piss off Valentino anymore than he already had—he already had the feeling he was waiting for him to be back at the studio to do whatever the fuck he felt was necessary for something like this—nothing Angel _wanted_ to think about. He went through one of his drawers and emptied it into his suitcase—thongs, crop tops, a bag of white powder—

He stilled and looked down at the bag. ...He had taken Valentino’s drugs when he had _this_ in the drawer the entire time? Goddamnit! _Fuck_!

He looked it over—a few lines would be nice right about now. Five months meant nothing anymore, not with him going back to the studio. He just put it back in the drawer, though—it’d be nice to tell himself he really, _really_ did try to fight this.

There was a knock at the door—Nuggets shifted on the bed. Angel made sure the drawer was shut before he went to get it.

Niffty stood in the hallway, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I...” She frowned for a moment, looked away. “...I know I shouldn’t know this, but I heard you were leaving.”

“Yeah,” he said. No point in denying it, he’d like to think he was memorable enough they’d notice his absence eventually. “...I’m leavin’. Tomorrow.” This time tomorrow, he’d be getting settled in the studio and probably wishing he was _double_ dead. “You overhear me and Charlie?”

“No,” she said, twisted the knot of her kerchief in her hand. “Charlie and Vaggie—she was... upset.” Maybe it was understandable. First patient of her little passion project was leaving, barely clean, to go to the most—what was the word Vaggie had used? Hedonistic?—job in Hell. “...Do you need help packing?”

He didn’t really think he did, but he nodded anyway and got out of Niffty’s way. “Wow, your room already looks so... bare.” She glanced around. “...I don’t like it, can you put everything back?”

He chuckled weakly. “Bit too late for that,” he said.

Niffty helped him rearrange his clothes, folding them before putting them in the suitcase so they actually fit. (“So many pretty threads, and you’re gonna ball them all up? So many wrinkles!”) He threw his sex toys in a bag so Niffty wouldn’t see them. “You’re not coming back, are you?” She asked.

“...Probably not, babe,” he said. He hated it, he didn’t want to go to the studio, but he had to—how did he explain that in a way that didn’t make him sound pathetic.

She went quiet for a moment. “Not to get all—“ She made a vague gesture, like she couldn’t find the right adjective. “—but are we like, still gonna be friends when you’re gone? Maybe that’s kinda dumb to ask, because this is probably a bad time, but it’s just—it’s been so long since I’ve really had any friends, you know? And I really like hanging out with you, because you’re so nice to me, and it was so exciting to get here and get to know you, and I’m really gonna miss you.”

“O’ course we’re gonna be friends,” he said. “...I can’t promise we’re gonna be super in touch, but I like hangin’ out with you, Niffty.”

She smiled. “You do?”

“Yeah—you’re super hot, and super sweet, you’re like, the whole package, you’re a great friend.” Niffty was beaming. “You’re too fuckin’ nice, I really gotta introduce you to one of my other friends—“

...Fuck. Cherri.

He had gotten a text from Valentino earlier, possibly hinting that he knew Angel was lying—he kept thinking he had to text Cherri to talk to someone about this, but... how would he tell Cherri about this? What could he say about this? How would she respond?

Maybe some things were better kept to himself.

Niffty looked over at him. “The hotel’s gonna be different without you,” she said. “I mean—who’s gonna flirt with Husk? Fight with Vaggie? Flirt with Alastor?”

“Maybe ya can get Husk and Alastor to flirt with each other,” he suggested.

“This isn’t a fanfiction,” she lamented.

“You could always pick a fight with Vaggie,” he said. “C’mon. Ya can take her.”

She sighed. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Niffty,” he said. “Ya think demons like me don’t come a dime a dozen or somethin’? I’m sure there’ll be some other jackass who either drinks too much, smokes too much, fucks too much, somethin’, and he’ll come in, piss off everyone, and it’ll be like I never left.”

“But will he help me in the kitchen?” Niffty asked. “Have the sweetest pet? Escort me to bed when I’m sauced out of my mind?”

He shrugged. Niffty sighed. “Are you excited about leaving? Do you like where you’re going?”

No. “Yeah,” he said. “Don’t worry about it, babe—I’ll visit ya, okay? And ya can tell me all ‘bout your newest fanfiction, and shit then.”

Niffty nodded—but looked like she didn’t believe him for a minute.

There was no fucking way he’d be getting to sleep with how bare his room looked, and Nuggets fitfully resting on his bed, obviously knowing what was gonna happen tomorrow was something bad.

He was hoping maybe he’d get a chance to grab Husk and maybe get a chance to sleep in his room for the night, but by the time he came down to the bar, he was gone—for the best, in all honesty, Angel would have been pissed if the night he hooked up with Husk was his last night at the hotel (at the same time, it would have made for a good last night, but whatever).

He sat down at the bar and tried to clear his mind—this was better than staying in his room, keeping his pig awake, but only just barely. He didn’t want to look at the walls and how bare they were, how unfamiliar the room looked when it didn’t have any of his things. He rested his elbows on the counters and buried his head in his hands, swallowing the lump in his throat.

God, he was so _stupid._

Footsteps sounded nearby and he turned to face the source of the noise, freezing. Vaggie stood nearby, looking the same as ever. “Huh,” she said. “Thought you’d be drinking by now.”

“Nah,” he sniffed, pulled the angel dust out of his top to show her. “Not even smokin’ or snortin’ or whatever, just wishin’ I was.”

Vaggie looked at it then up at him. “You’ve had that the entire time?” She asked.

”’Parently,” he said. He threw it on the counter. “I keep thinkin’ ‘bout doin’ a few lines, dunno what’s stoppin’ me.”

The look in her eyes that had flared up when she saw it softened, and she took a step forward. “I’m surprised.”

”Yeah,” he said. “So am I, don’t wanna break my five month streak just yet.”

”And it feels like just yesterday you were lying about two weeks clean and searching the car for liquor.”

”Damn knife broke the fuckin’ window,” he said. “Best part of the whole fuckin’ car and it doesn’t work anymore.” Fuck—he needed a drink. He didn’t have to be sober for tomorrow at least. He grabbed a bottle from behind the counter—Vaggie didn’t stop him. “So, what, ya down here to gimme one last lecture ‘fore tomorrow? Know you’re not reconsiderin’ my _offer_.”

She cringed. “Fuck no, I have no intentions of ever sleeping with another man in my life.” She paused and added, “Afterlife.”

”What if you like, met a transgirl or somethin’,” Angel asked. “Or did you get condemned here for transphobia?”

She frowned. “Depends, I guess? Never thought about it, I didn’t meet a whole lot of trans people in El Salvador or anything.”

”Okay, but what if she’s like, cute? And she’s pretty nice, and is definitely your type, but she’s definitely got a dick?”

Vaggie blinked. “I... I’d reject her because I already have a girlfriend?”

”Okay, but if ya _weren’t_ bangin’ Charlie—“

” _Why_ are we talking about this?”

He fixed one of his gloves. “Important thing,” he said. “When I’m pickin’ up Johns, I always doublecheck trans ain’t just like, a fetish for them, I’m all about trans rights an’ shit, they don’t get the goods unless they support trans people.”

Vaggie looked at him. “You made that up,” she said.

”Yeah, just now,” he said. “Instead o’ figurin’ out your stance on trans folk, I just learned you’re crazy ‘bout Charlie, which ain’t anythin’ new.”

”No, not really,” she said. “We’ve been dating since... twenty fifteen? Something like that, time’s weird down here. Longest relationship I’ve ever had—and the best girlfriend I could ask for.”

”Damn,” Angel let out a low whistle. “But what’s that really sayin’, how many serious relationships have you been in, you were like, what, nineteen when you died?”

“Twenty two,” Vaggie corrected.

” _Fuck,_ ya had twenty two serious relationships?” He laughed. “Musta been a pretty fuckin’ smooth teenager, Jesus _fuck.”_

”What? No—“

”And I thought _I_ was a slut.”

” _Maldito bastardo,”_ Vaggie said. “No, I’m twenty two.”

”Fuckin’ young,” he said. “Like, you’re basically jailbait, toots. Like, I feel gross for hitting on you to get my drugs. Like, I worry about you and Charlie—“

” _Ay,_ shut up.” She rubbed her eyes. “...One,” she said. “One other relationship besides Charlie.”

”Ooh,” Angel grinned. “Does Charlie know?”

”Yeah,” Vaggie sighed. “I mentioned her before to her.” She swallowed. “But she’s got nothing on Charlie, she was...” She cleared her throat. “Let’s just say, at some point in the future, I’m definitely gonna see her again.”

”...Oh.” Well, now he felt bad for asking. “...Shit, was she like, a wife beater?”

”And then some,” Vaggie sighed. “She was a bit older than me, and I was young, and just... glad not to be the only queer person in town.” She sniffed, gaze distant. “She didn’t think there was anything wrong with me—most of the time. When she was in a good mood, but... When she was in a bad mood... I moved in with her after my parents disowned me, and... She used to take my money to buy drugs. Accused me of cheating nonstop. Hit me to get what she wanted. Cried every time we fought and promised she’d change if I didn’t break up with her, said she’d kill herself if I left her.” She sighed. “...I left her a week before I died, without a word, because I didn’t want her to get angry at me again. I just remember sleeping in my car and thinking I was the worst person in the world with how much I hated her.”

Fuck, that was sobering. “...Ya just... left?”

”It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “She sucked my bank account dry, and used to pull my hair, and slap my ass whenever I walked by her, in our cramped little apartment. Hated when I went to school. I kept thinking about the fight we would have if she caught me, but then I was out the door and in my car and gone long before she ever noticed. ...There’s something weird about being young, and queer, and in love—you just... think you’re sick. You have to be coming down with something, because everyone _looks at you_ like you are, and she... She _didn’t,_ and I was desperate.” She shook her head. “I was stupid.”

Something about that sentence rubs him the wrong way. “Fuck, did Charlie send ya down here?” He leaned away from her, like if she got any closer, she’d be able to hear his racing mind. “I dunno what kinda psychology shit you’re tryin’ to pull with me here, but if you think you can talk about your fucked up family and psycho of an ex and get me to open up about _my_ fucked up family and dickhead boss—“

Vaggie’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “What? No, we were just talking.”

”Yeah,” he said. “‘Cause no better time to bond, huh?”

”I guess? Do you think everything’s some sort of trick? Everyone’s always trying to get one over on you?”

”That sounds like some psychology if I ever heard one,” he said. “Fuck, I thought we were like, havin’ a civil conversation or somethin’.”

”We _were_ and then you started being a dick about it.”

He huffed. “Whatever.”

” _Dios mio_ _,_ you’re over twice my age and still act like a teenager—why are you getting so defensive, I was trying to be _nice.”_

He sighed. “Fuck.” He buried his pounding head in his hands all over again, like maybe it’d get rid of the migraine he was developing. “Oh my _fuck,_ I don’t wanna leave.”

Vaggie gave a flat, “What.”

”I literally can’t even fuckin’ imagine wakin’ up in a bed that isn’t mine,” he said. “Don’t wanna go ‘bout my day without fightin’ with you, and Charlie burstin’ into song like a fuckin’ Disney princess, or... _Fuck.”_

Vaggie looked at him. “Then don’t leave.”

”It’s not my choice,” he said. “If it was up ta me...” He’d stay—this was routine. This was normal. This was the closest thing to home he had. He looked away.

”Come on,” she said. “...I thought we were stuck with you.”

”Guess not.” He sighed. “I... need to get to bed. If I’m late to the studio, Val’ll have my fuckin’ head, and I like it better on my shoulders.” He stomped off to his room—the fact that it wasn’t going to be his room for much longer sank from his head into his chest, made his body feel heavy. It was probably a good thing he left his drugs downstairs—if he had it on him right now, he’d be pouring out a few lines already.

Vaggie shut the door quietly behind her—but Charlie sprung up in bed like it had been louder than a gunshot. “Vaggie?”

”Did I wake you, hon?”

She shook her head in the dark—she mostly knew because she heard Charlie’s hair move, brush against the satin sheets of their shared bed. “What were you doing?” She asked as Vaggie got closer, lying back in bed.

”I... talked with Angel Dust.” She wasn’t entirely sure what happened back there, her mind still trying to sort through it all. “...I don’t think he wants to leave.”

Charlie shifted, moving closer to her. “What makes you say that?”

”...He told me, I guess.” She collapsed on the mattress. “...I think it has something to do with work—you remember what he said about his contract, right?”

”Only that it’s lasting forever,” Charlie sighed. She reached for Vaggie’s hand and squeezed it gently. “He didn’t say much else—maybe we can help him somehow?”

”Because he’s been so keen on accepting our help in the past?”

Charlie frowned. “...I don’t know. Maybe it’s different now, I mean...” She slumped. “What are we gonna do with out only patient leaving like this?”

It was a weak response, but the only somewhat comforting one she had. “We’ll find a new one, hon.”

Charlie pouted almost childishly. “I don’t want a new one, I like this one.”

Vaggie reached for her girlfriend and hugged her. “I know, hon.” She sighed, her body sinking into the mattress. It was so late. “I do too.”

He didn’t get much sleep. He kept thinking about his pig and about Cherri—multiple times throughout the night, his phone vibrated and he refused to look at it, because he dreaded talking to Cherri about this. How would he start that conversation? _Remember that club we blew up that first time Val raped me? He knows we did it, and now I’m moving into the studio_! The fuck was that gonna do?

Morning came but he didn’t want to get up, even when Nuggets stirred to continue his protest for them to stay at the hotel, burying himself in blankets and making various, angry sounding, noises. Angel _wished_ he could bury himself in blankets and not leave.

...He didn’t want to bring Fat Nuggets with him. He saw Valentino’s posts on Voxtagram! He knew what he did to _his_ pet when he got pissed off, he didn’t want to think about what he’d do to Fat Nuggets if he decided that was what he wanted to take his anger out on. All the same, he didn’t want to leave Fat Nuggets—who would take care of him? Could he try to get someone to adopt him? How would he know that they weren’t going to eat him the moment Angel left him in their hands? Even if he had been in touch with Cherri right now, he wasn’t sure what she could do about it—Fat Nuggets was a lot of responsibility and as much as Cherri loved Fat Nuggets, that didn’t mean she’d be willing to adopt him.

His pig huffed, snorted, sniffed his hand and laid back on the bed before looking at him. “Mama doesn’t know what to do with ya, Nuggs,” he sighed. He guessed, for now, he _would_ have to take him with him to the studio. He felt sick—he couldn’t be sure if it was what he was thinking about, if the stress was catching up with him, or if this was just him being clean for five months, because being clean for five months almost felt like being sick for five months straight.

Someone knocked on his door—for a minute, he considered ignoring it, because it was definitely Charlie, but with this ~~definitely~~ probably being his last morning at the hotel, he figured he’d entertain her a moment.

”Do you need any help?” She asked when he opened the door—Nuggets all but ran to her feet, she stopped down to pet him, but Nuggets refused to make it quick. “Like, with packing or...?”

”No,” he said. “Niffty helped me yesterday, now I just...” He glanced around his room—it looked even _worse_ in daylight. “...need to get my stuff to the studio.”

”Let Vaggie and I help you,” she said. It wasn’t really a request—he could probably refuse, but with the way Charlie was looking at him, he wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to. “We can take the limo there.”

”...Alright,” he said. “Fine—if ya really wanna waste your time.”

”It’s not a waste,” she said, voice firm, tone steady. Fuck, she knew how to make him feel like a prick. “...I can get Razzle and Dazzle to put them in the limo for you, it’ll only be a minute—they look heavy.”

There was only three of them, and Angel knew he could carry them easily if he tried. ...But he didn’t want to.

”Alright,” he said and picked up his pig. “I’m... gonna have to leave soon.”

”Yeah,” Charlie said. “I figured.”

The lobby looked the same as ever, Angel thought, except Niffty was drowning her sorrows in ice—and really, _really_ drowning them. Husk looked at him flatly when he came downstairs. “...Holy fuck,” he said, took a swig of some cheap booze on the counter—and then cursed again when he realized Vaggie was in the room (and shot a glare when he cursed, still enforcing the rules they set) and he had to throw a dollar into the swear jar.

”That’s a fuckin’ mood,” he sighed. “Any chance I can get a drink ‘fore I leave from ya, Husky?”

Husk rolled his eyes, but just made him a drink. “Gonna be weird not watching your pig every day,” he said.

Yeah, because he needed to be reminded. “Yeah,” he sighed. “...Nuggs is gonna miss ya, he _loves_ ya. Tells me every night.”

”Aren’t you five months clean?” He asked. “Your pig shouldn’t be talking if you’re clean.”

He snorted. “...God,” he sighed. “He’s gonna hate it at the studio.”

Husk eyed him when he slid his glass over—Angel wondered if he’d ever get another one of Husk’s drinks and told himself to savor it. “Not a good place for a pig?”

”Heh, no.” No. No, it wasn’t, _it so wasn’t_. “But I don’t really know what ta do with him—any chance ya know any folks in the market for a pig?”

Husk blinked. “...You’re thinking of giving him away?”

He rubbed his temples with a pair of hands, pushing the ice in his glass down with a straw with another. “I...’m considerin’,” he admitted. “Only someone who can take care o’ him, not just any rando, but...” He glanced at Nuggets, curled up around the floor and sighing in defeat. “...He’s not gonna be happy at the studio, I can tell he’s pissed we’re leavin’ the hotel.”

Husk stared flatly at him like he was thinking really, really deeply about something, face blank. “I can,” he said, at last.

”Can what?”

”Take him,” Husk said. “...Woudn’t be too much different than what I’ve been doin’ this past year, anyway, right?” He looked down at him. “...Plus, maybe it’ll convince you to visit some time.”

He forced himself to smile, raised a hand to his collarbone. “Aw, Husky, you’re gonna miss me?”

”...Just drink your fucking cocktail,” he said. “Before it gets watered down.”

Obediently, he took a sip of his drink. Husk handed another glass full of nothing but ice to Niffty, who was on her phone. “Ooh, Vox is following me, I guess!” She looked at the screen and looked up. “I have a lot of followers now, like more than five.”

”Don’t go lookin’ at his posts,” Angel told her. “It’ll give you nightmares, Niffty.”

”But then how else am I gonna know anything other than his name?” She asked.

”They’re not even that interestin’—Val’s a prick, and he’s got a really cute shark, and that’s it.”

Niffty frowned. “‘Val?’” She repeated.

”Valentino,” Husk said. “Angel’s boss.”

A look of realization flashed across her face before it darkened. “The son-of-a-bitch, rat bastard?” She asked.

”That’s the bitch,” Angel said, and rubbed the side of his nose. “One of the three V’s, in the triple V gang, owns the studio I work at, every club I’ve ever danced at, and... my soul and body. He’s also been datin’ Vox for awhile, and it’s somehow the most toxic and borin’ relationship I’ve ever seen.”

”Toxic _and_ boring?” Husk asked.

”Yeah,” Angel said. “Like, they’ve gotten predictable. Just the other day, they were talkin’ real loud in Val’s office, and Vox mentioned somethin’ about Alastor—“ Alastor walked by at that exact moment and stopped when he heard his name. “—who he’s got like, the _biggest_ man crush on—“

” _What?”_

”Yeah,” Angel said. “He’s pretty thirsty, ya met him, right? Fuckin’ attention whore, he’d kill Velvet and Valentino with his bare hands if it made you look at him for even a second, that’s how bad he’s got it for ya. Ya came up in conversation, and then Val was all, ‘ _kinda fuckin’ rude to talk about your man crush when we JUST got back together, Voxy_ ,’ and Vox told him to shut the fuck up.” Specifically, Vox had told him to shut the fuck up while eying Angel Dust, who had just been trying to give Valentino his fucking money so he could leave—he wasn’t sure what exactly Vox knew about him and Valentino, but he knew Velvet knew and Vox was close with both her _and_ Val, so there was no telling what he knew.

...If he did know, he probably didn’t care—he knew Velvet thought what Valentino did to him and the rest of his whores was funny, and Vox probably held the same attitude. “And then they started shoutin’, because Vox was like, ‘ _Ya just said the other day it wasn’t ever gonna happen between me and him, why the fuck do I gotta deal with you dryhumpin’ your whores in front o’ me when we’re datin’, ya rat bastard,”_ and then I think Valentino threw somethin’ at him, because when they fight like that, someone always gets hurt, because they’re both psychos.”

Alastor’s grin was confused. “Oh, wow,” Niffty said. “Just hearing that takes me back to my marriage days.” She laughed nervously. “...That’s terrible, seriously.”

”...What the fuck.” Husk was staring at him— _bewildered_ was the best adjective to describe Vaggie’s expression.

That all felt super heavy, and just reminded him where he was going after this, so he felt like adding, gesturing to Alastor while he spoke, _“_ He calls Al _Bambi_ sometimes.”

Husk snorted, Vaggie asked, frowning deeply, “Like the lesbians?”

Angel choked, turned to her, “What?” Alastor’s grin got more confused.

”It was like, some eighties thing, I think?” Vaggie said. “They were like, a term for lesbians who were more interested in romance and cuddling than sex or anything.”

Angel shrugged. “Guess he thinks Alastor’s an ace lesbian or somethin’, I dunno.”

”No, wait,” Vaggie cursed beneath her breath. “No, it’s probably a reference towards the movie—it was a, a movie and the main character was a deer, I think.”

“Both of these are possible,” Husk said, taking another swig of his bottle, held loosely by the neck.

 _“I think you’re all misunderstand my... relations with this man,_ ” Alastor started, grin widening like he was trying to draw attention to his teeth. _“We’re_ rivals _.”_ Static crackled—for a minute, though, it didn’t sound like his voice was coming from a radio. 

Husk stared up at him. “Yeah, we know. You’ve made it pretty fucking clear how much you fucking hate him.”

Niffty nodded. “You went on for five hours just last week about the rise of modernity, and just how much you want to rip his head off.”

Alastor’s eyes darkened. _“He would look much better without that modern monstrosity on his shoulders.”_

Niffty giggled. “Rivals to lovers,” she whispered, grinning.

All Angel could think about was how much he’d miss this all.

He kept silent throughout most of the ride to the studio. Vaggie and Charlie were pressed up close next to each other like bookends, holding hands tightly, while he sat across, staring out the window. He wasn’t even in the mood to play with the window—he was losing his room at the hotel, his pig, and whatever _this_ had been. 

He didn’t know what it was—something soft, something almost like _safety,_ as safe as it got in Hell. Something warmer than the apartment he had lived in before the hotel, bigger, somewhere he fit right into like a puzzle piece—why the fuck was he getting so sappy now that he was leaving?

“This is the studio?” Vaggie asked as the car came to a stop—it was, it was pretty noticeable in the (one of many) red light districts in Hell, all glitz and glamor and busy, demons milling about. Some were drunk or high or looked miserable, others looked as pleasant as you could get in Hell—Angel didn’t know what drugs they were on, but they must have been good.

”Yeah,” he said—and he still had about an hour to spare. Briefly, he wondered what exactly Valentino was going to do to him, but figured he’d burn that bridge when he got to it.

Charlie and Vaggie looked at him, both quiet. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say like this, so he settled for wrapping a hand around a suitcase next to him. “...Thanks fa the drive or whatever,” he said. It came out as _whateva_ but he didn’t care, it didn’t matter. “...And fa lettin’ me stay at the hotel an’ shit.”

”Of course, Angel,” Charlie said. “We were glad to have you. ...Feel free to visit us, okay? Whenever you like.” She squeezed his hands again, which was probably a good thing. A hug felt weird to him—maybe because in life, he had only really hugged his mother and Molly, and now, only really hugged his pig. He had had a few _kinda_ hugs with Cherri, really, but...

This almost felt normal. Vaggie looked at him. “I’ll make sure the bar’s stocked with cherries and limes,” she said. “For your pig.”

His heart ached. “Thanks,” he said. “...I’ll try and visit, it’s...” He gestured to the studio, out the window. “It’s just work. I mean, it ain’t your hotel, but it’s... it’s not a crowbar hotel.”

He needed nine gallons of vodka and three tons of nose candy for this shit. “...Thanks,” he said.

Charlie nodded. “...We’ll miss you—call us if you need anything we can help with, okay?” She grabbed Vaggie’s hand—her knuckles were going white, she was squeezing Vaggie’s hand so hard. 

“...Sure,” he said, opened the door, grabbed his bags easily and stepped out, looking at them. “...Um...” 

“Thank you,” Charlie said. “...I know you tried. You’re always welcome back, Angel.”

His heart throbbed. “Right. ...Thanks.” He shifted on his feet, not sure exactly what to say—he wasn’t good at this. “...Keep an eye on my pig, he’s just a baby.”

She nodded solemnly.

The limo didn’t leave until he was (un)safely inside the studio—every single step towards the entrance, a voice nagged him to turn around, hop back in the limo and leave. Valentino’d throw a hissy fit. He’d make Angel wish he was double dead. It would be a terrible decision, but a part of him didn’t care—the ensuing chaos and punishment would be worth it, if he could hold onto this terrible, pointless, stupid little safe haven just a little longer.

...It wasn’t really a choice he got to make, but damnit, he felt like he somehow managed to make the wrong choice, it felt like his heart stopped beating all together.

The hotel felt weirdly silent for the next week. The lobby felt empty without Angel Dust at the bar, and with Fat Nuggets still remaining at the hotel, it wasn’t like Angel had just left, but like he had _vanished_ , there was always this feeling that he was somehow _missing,_ something Charlie was pretty sure everyone in the hotel was feeling.

Fat Nuggets huffed for the thousandth time on the floor, lying down like he was angry at them for somehow managing to scare off his mama, and Husk dropped a cherry for him. He nudged it with his nose, but didn’t seem too eager. Niffty was running around madly in an attempt to clean, and kept trying to strike up conversation with everybody, like she was trying to fill the silence Angel had left, and Charlie was trying to focus on not getting depressed.

A week of nothing wasn’t going to help anyone. Charlie took a deep breath—but she already knew what she was going to do.

Alastor and Husk were talking at the bar, she didn’t know what about. “—watching his pig,” Husk said. “...Permanently probably.” Nuggets snorted. “...Lucky he’s cute, I still need to walk him.”

She stepped towards the bar. “Actually, Husk, I wouldn’t mind taking him for a walk.”

Husk looked up at her. “You wouldn’t?”

”No, it might be a good chance to stretch my legs.” She scooped up the pig. “Exercise is good for us, huh, Nuggs?” Husk handed her a leash with an attached harness, took another swig of alcohol—a bottle identical to the one he was drinking from hours ago, and last night, and three months ago. She wondered how many he went through a day. “Al, would you mind walking with me?” From across the room, Vaggie’s expression shifted to something alarmed—even after all this time, she still didn’t trust him. Charlie didn’t think she _really_ blamed her, since she still didn’t trust him completely, but his help was pretty necessary and, honestly, appreciated. “There was something I was hoping to talk to you about.”

He adjusted his monocle, like he needed a closer look at her. _“I suppose so—under the assumption I manage to leave the hotel without being speared in the chest today.”_

”Vaggie hasn’t done it yet!” She chirped. Behind him, Vaggie made a face. 

She’d been alone with Alastor before—if he was going to hurt her, he probably would have done it by now, and he really hadn’t given them too much of a reason to _thoroughly_ distrust him—her distrust was more of a slight caution in her words than anything, but she wasn’t too worried.

Hell was the same it had always been—very red. The streets were warm as they walked. “Okay,” she started. “So _obviously_ it’s pretty difficult to run a hotel without any patrons, and with our only patron gone...”

” _Ah_ ,” Alastor said. A demon down the street saw them and ran the opposite direction. “ _I was beginning to wonder how to broach that subject with you.”_

”No,” she said. “I’ve noticed. ...It’s... pretty difficult to not notice. I know you’re basically _only_ here to watch us all fail, because you find it entertaining and all, but I’m going to assume this isn’t what you want.”

” _No,_ ” he agreed. _“I’m looking for an all around struggle to reach betterment, to watch redemption dangle just out of reach of specific sinners—the hotel’s barely off the ground.”_

”Yeah,” she sighed. A woman across the street saw them, or more specifically, saw Alastor, and fainted. Charlie began to wonder if this happened wherever Alastor went, and if he even noticed it all anymore. “I’m trying to think of ways to get other patrons, because this hotel is nothing if we have no one to redeem—but I don’t think we should try the news again, since it went so poorly last time.”

” _What a fiasco—I haven’t seen a picture show that entertaining, since I first arrived here!”_

”I’m glad it amused you.” This street went on for a while, Charlie noted. Fat Nuggets seemed bored and unhappy, but he continued to walk along. “I know a ton of other demons got a kick out of it, but it didn’t really get the word out...”

Another demon was on the same side of the street as them and also fainted when they saw Alastor. He only stepped over the demon, Charlie made sure to walk around and tugged gently on the leash when Fat Nuggets tried to sniff him to get him to keep walking. “To be honest—“ Suddenly, Fat Nuggets perked up. Charlie watched a demon walk into an alleyway on the phone, tailed by another, though more familiar demon with a baseball bat. “Isn’t that Angel’s friend, Cherri Bomb?”

Alastor blinked. “ _Who_?”

There was a crash from the alley and shouting. Charlie walked faster to get a look of what was happening.

Cherri had this demon pinned to the wall, looking ready to bash his head in. The phone he had had on him moments ago was smashed to pieces on the ground—he was short, much shorter than Cherri, though she also had a hand in the front of his shirt, making his legs dangle in the air. The first thing Charlie noticed was his multiple arms and eight, red eyes. “Get the fuck off o’ me, ya crazy dame!”

”Can it, shortie!” She turned when Charlie got too close, maybe she heard her footsteps. Fat Nuggets was very excited to see her and looked frustrated that the leash wasn’t longer.

”Aren’t you Angel’s friend?” Charlie asked. “Cherri Bomb?”

”’Angel,” the demon Cherri had pinned repeated.

”Aren’t you the chick running the hotel he’s staying at?” She asked.

”Was,” Charlie said.

”The fuck do you mean _was?”_ Cherri asked. “Shit, I should have gone to you _first,_ it would have been a better use of my time than tracking down this prick.”

Charlie frowned—the leash in her hand was pulled taut. A demon walked past on the sidewalk and looked into the alley, saw the feared radio demon walking alongside the princess of Hell, holding a squealing pig while a cyclops demon threatened a spider and apparently, thought it best to keep on walking. “...You’re looking for Angel?” Charlie asked.

”Well, I’m not here to fuck spiders,” she responded.

”Thank _God,”_ the demon exclaimed.

Cherri ignored him. “He hasn’t been responding to my texts,” she said. (“The one time I didn’t bring my gun with me,” the demon muttered.) “He keeps leaving me on read, has been for over a week, I assumed something happened to him.”

”...And you didn’t think of looking at the hotel?”

”I think I was working my way up to there,” she said. “My first instinct was to interrogate everyone I knew that didn’t like him, so I... _had a conversation_ with Sir Pentious or whatever the fuck his name is, and that managed to lead me to _this_ fucker.”

”And that’s...?”

Before Cherri could answer, the demon in her grasp kicked her hard in the stomach, shoving her off of him and dashed back out of the alleyway before either of them could do anything. “Fuck me!” She shouted. “ _Ugh._ ” She fixed her ponytail. “That _was_ Angel’s older brother, Arackniss or something.”

Charlie blinked. “...Really? That’s his name?”

”Yeah,” she said. “That’s his name.” She sighed and pulled out her phone, showing off a text conversation with Angel—a one sided one. Charlie saw _Is there a reason ur ignoring me now, Angie? I’m getting worried, is everything okay?_ and _Seriously, Angel, talk to me—if I did something, I don’t know what, but I’m seriously freaked out right now_ , before noticing that they were all getting read, if not responded to. “He’s never done this before—we’ve got into fights, but we work through them like _adults_ , so I know that’s not it. He doesn’t usually do this.”

“I...” Charlie cleared her throat. Fat Nuggets snorted. “It doesn’t explain everything, but... Angel isn’t staying at the hotel anymore. He moved into the studio he works at.”

Cherri looked at her. “...He what?”

”He didn’t really explain it,” she started. “He just came back from work one day, asked to speak to me in private and said he was leaving. He’s been gone about a week.”

She let go of the bat in her hands. “...Then...” She lowered her gaze to Fat Nuggets and stepped closer before scooping him up in her arms to pet him. “Why do you have his pig?” She asked.

”He left him at the hotel,” she explained. “He was reluctant to bring him with him to the hotel, was looking for someone else to take care of him, and Husk—our bartender—volunteered to watch him, so long as he came to visit occasionally.” She paused, Cherri scratched Nuggets behind his ears. “...He hasn’t visited so far.” They both went silent. “He hasn’t been talking to you?”

”No,” she said. “I don’t know why—I’ve called, I’ve texted... I don’t want to get all weird and stalker-ish, so I’ve tried to stop, because he probably has his reasons, but it’s been freaking me out, we don’t usually go this long with nothing but radio silence.” Fat Nuggets snorted. “Hey, baby, it’s good to see you too.”

”I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on,” Charlie said. “It was pretty sudden, I don’t know for sure what happened, but...” She hesitated a moment. “It might have had something to do with work.”

Cherri glanced up at her, still petting Fat Nuggets. “You know what he does for work, right?”

”Yeah?” Charlie said. “He works for Valentino, right? The overlord?”

Cherri looked pissed at just the mention of his name. “How much has he told you about work?”

”He signed a contract when he was drunk,” Charlie said. “...He has a lot of sex at work? I know his boss is a douche, I...” She hesitated a minute, not sure what exactly to say. “...I’m pretty suspicious of Valentino, in general.”

Cherri nodded, slowly—the movement had her ponytail bobbing. “...I wouldn’t be surprised if this had to do with him.” She didn’t say much else, just kept petting Nuggets.

”Why don’t you come back to the hotel with us?” She asked, gestured to Alastor who she briefly almost forgot had been standing there. “We can talk more about this, maybe we’ll figure something out, something must be wrong.”

Cherri pushed her phone back into her pocket and glanced from her to Alastor before sighing. “...Alright,” she said. “I’ve already kinda ran out of options anyway, since his brother ran away like a motherfucking _coward_.” She slung the baseball bat over her shoulder, put Fat Nuggets back on the ground, even as he started to paw at her pant leg like he wanted back up.

”He just left,” Cherri said. “...That doesn’t make any sense. Fuck, it must be a work thing. Fuck, I’m gonna kill his boss.”

”That,” Vaggie said. “Is a terrible option.”

They had settled into the lobby to talk, but it felt like there wasn’t much to talk about except how little they seemed to know about all that was happening and what had became of Angel Dust. Niffty was still on a stool, her glass of ice now empty as she kicked her legs idly on her seat, Husk slumped over the bar and resting his chin his hand as he listened, and the rest of them seated at a table. Cherri was holding Fat Nuggets who seemed slightly more at peace with this. “I mean, maybe,” Cherri said. “But how many other options do we have? Always wanted to cut an Overlord bitch, and there’s few that deserve it the way he does.”

”Maybe,” Charlie said. “But Overlords aren’t really someone you want to get on the bad side of, especially when it comes to the three _Vs.”_ She spared a glance at Alastor. “Ever since they’ve gained the amount of power they’ve had, they’ve... just sort of been a constant. We can’t just kill one and get away with it, even if they do deserve it.”

Niffty raised her hand like she was in a classroom. “I believe you and all, but can I ask why?”

Vaggie was pretty up to date on all this, all things considered—she hadn’t been in Hell for even a decade, but knew just as much as demons who had been here for multiple. “When... Alastor manifested in Hell and took on past Overlords, their disappearances created a sort of vacuum—that’s what’s allowed them to get the power they have by now, and on top of being some of the most powerful demons in Hell, they’re pretty tight knit—killing one of them, if we somehow managed to pull that off, which we wouldn’t, would just make us enemies with the other two, and that’s the last thing we need.”

Niffty nodded like she was taking note of this. “Can we kill all three of them?” Cherri suggested.

”...No,” Vaggie said—she wasn’t going to bother to explain why.

”Damnit, I’m out of ideas.”

There was a knock at the front. “People _know_ how hotels work, right?” Husk asked. “No one knocks on the front of a hotel, that’s fucking stupid.”

Charlie got to her feet. “Maybe they’re shy,” she suggested. They knocked again. “I’ll go see what it is.”

Vaggie twisted in her chair, watching her go, but didn’t quite follow.

Slowly, she opened the door and then slammed it shut, apparently startling Vaggie. “Who is it?” She asked, already ready to grab her harpoon and help her.

”I don’t know, I just saw _someone_ and got startled.” She wiped her palms on her pant clad thighs and cleared her throat before opening the door again.

The same demon she had seen with Cherri stood in front of her, scowling. “Do you do that every time someone comes to the door?”

”...No,” she responded. They stared at each other.

He was short, she noticed. He had multiple arms, dark and thin, with a hat and a jacket and red eyes—unlike Angel with his two large eyes and three below them like little pink freckles, he had two big red eyes and two smaller ones above each one, and one below them. Despite the differences, in a way, Charlie could kind of see the resemblance. “Arackniss, right?” She asked.

”Anthony mention me or somethin’?” He asked.

Charlie frowned. “...You mean Angel Dust?”

”...Sure.” She blinked—she could feel Vaggie’s eyes on her, probably not trusting whatever stranger was at the door. “Heard he was stayin’ here?”

”Uh...” She wasn’t sure how to start this. “Actually, he’s not here—“

Apparently that was enough for him, because he turned on his heel and walked off. “No, wait, I didn’t finish my sentence!” He tiger didn’t hear her or ignored her—he probably didn’t care. “Fuck,” she said.

She shut the door when he was gone. “What kind of a name is Arackniss anyway?” She asked, walking back to the group—no one had an answer for her.

He almost forgot his parents had taken him to church.

God, he had hated church.

It was just sitting for hours while a strange man talked about shit he didn’t really care about—had him convinced he’d go to Hell for losing his virginity before he was married, for being gay, for drinking, doing drugs. Granted, he _was_ in Hell, so maybe there had been a point, but right about now, everything felt kind of pointless. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs, and had stopped tugging against the ropes. Wasn’t much of a point anyway—it was uncomfortable, but he’d been tied up before, and even though he didn’t want to be tied up, the fact that it was nothing new kept him from panicking. He was mostly just bored at this point.

He wasn’t sure how long Valentino had kept him tied to the bed, just like he had threatened to do, or how long he intended to keep Angel there—probably too long. Angel didn’t like this at all, and fully expected to be killed, raped, beaten, maimed or whatever Valentino really wanted to do with him, because he couldn’t stop him, so he shut his eyes because he couldn’t bear to gaze up at the ceiling like this and see the same goddamned ceiling he’d been seeing for fuck knew how long, and thought of church.

...He remembered sleeping with the pastor’s daughter once, an awkward sort of _experiment._ She had no clue what she was doing, but had known it was bad, just a month or two older than he was. He had kinda known he wasn’t into women, but was still trying to deny he liked men, and figured he might as well lose his virginity and pray it _cured_ him. Only sixteen. Books and movies made losing your virginity look fun, appealing, some story to tell.

It hadn’t been sexy. It had been ridiculously unsexy, they had just been sweating, and ~~Angel~~ Anthony had been so freaked out by everything, _It’s supposed to look like that? Shit, sorry, I’ve never seen one like this, fuck, I made it weird._ God, she had been so eager to leave afterwards, it had been so _stupid_ , he almost laughed.

Angel didn’t even remember her name.

Her brother though... The pastor’s son... Angel couldn’t forget _Walt_. God, that two years in age made all the difference, he had seemed so mature and thoughtful and ~~Angel~~ had been so horny and gay, and _patient_ when they fucked behind the church. He couldn’t remember what his voice sounded like, could remember the way his lips moved when they were both done and ~~Angel~~ had been on _cloud fucking nine,_ and even all this time later, he remembered he way his hands felt on his hips and the way his breath ghosted over his neck, skimming over his skin.

Fuck, he’d love to fuck Walt again—if only _he_ had ended up in Hell, Angel would have fucked him. No charge, no condom, just for old time’s sake. Probably a bit messed up that he had fucked his younger sister just a year earlier than that, but Angel told himself that he had probably gone on to become a pastor like his father or some shit, dated around and got a long term wife and two little anklebiters and now, _Anthony_ was just a fleeting, gay memory as he chilled in Heaven, doing whatever the fuck people in Heaven did.

God. He was tied up to a bed in the porn studio he worked at and he was thinking about _church_. His pastor would faint. Fuck, his parents would faint. His parents would have a heart attack and die—devout Catholics, mafia or no mafia.

...He hated the fact that he still kind of missed his parents, in that way he never understood. They were assholes, Angel reminded himself. Stupid, homophobic, hypocritical, _Catholic_ assholes. The family business had fucked up his eye so bad, the wound stayed in death (a lot of people told him it made him look hotter with his mismatched eyes, but _still_ ). He remembered his mother talking about him needing to find a wife and he had felt so _weird_ even trying to say the word _wife,_ so he had suggested that maybe he would be one of those men who just didn’t marry, and his mother’s grin had only widened, fingers on that hand resting on his shoulder digging in, _No, we’re gettin’ **you a wife,**_ _Tony._ He remembered having a one time, alleyway fling with some guy he met in a bar, drunkenly giggling while the man grinned at him, hands rubbing his thighs and he had _seen_ his brother walking down the street and swore they made eye contact only for him to interact with him later and not bring it up, making him wonder _how drunk_ he was, if he had imagined it.

He remembered his sister and her broad grins and them sharing their first alcoholic drink and asking, _Why the fuck does it taste so fuckin’ terrible, ya drink this all the time?_ while his father laughed. He remembered Ian asking him to toss him a spoon for something, and Anthony had actually tossed him the spoon and it had hit him right below his eye and he had started to bleed all over the kitchen and then Ian had fallen down, knuckles white on the counter as he bled and Anthony had fucking froze and blinked, and Ian was flipping him off, clutching his eye and at that exact moment, his father and his twin sister had walked in and then completely stopped and they were both panicking, and his mother passed out on the floor, his sister went pale and looked sick, and his father told him that he should seriously lecture him or something but knew from the look on his face this would never happen again and had started laughing while Ian got patched up, and it had became a joke how _lethal_ spoons were in Tony’s hands, as Ian would dryly remind him and Miele would chuckle and nudge him in the ribs.

...God, he remembered how people always heard Miele’s name and assumed it was _Molly_. It had stuck—she responded to both, everyone called her a mix of both, it was _Yeah, sure, Mie,_ and _hand me that, Molls,_ and she smiled every time she heard either name, and once, a friend of their fathers had made a joke about how old she was getting and was going to end up some guy’s Moll and him, his father, and his brother had all threatened to beat him up. God, he missed Molly.

He guessed it was nice to have at least one family member that wasn’t stupid, homophobic, and hypocritical. She was Catholic, though, but that wasn’t really a problem, just that everyone else’s Catholicism went hand in hand with the other traits. Miele hadn’t jumped on board the gay train with him, but she hadn’t fainted when she learned about it, hadn’t cursed him out and thought him an abomination, had made it so, so clear he was still her twin brother, and that had meant the world to him.

He started to feel sick thinking about this all—it was just too much on his mind, weighing heavy on his soul. He sank more into the mattress and stared at the ceiling, and wondered about the sky behind it, and whatever was behind that, and wondered if Molly was somewhere up there in Heaven, her sweet, happy, Catholic daddy’s girl self. Miele or Molly didn’t matter, even if she had two arms and eyes instead of eight, or round teeth, so long as she was okay.

God, he forgot how weird humans looked—he couldn’t imagine having any less than six arms. How did people like Alastor, and Cherri, and Charlie, and Vaggie, and Niffty, and Husk get by with their two?

His mind kept circling through the thoughts: church, hell, the fucking ceiling, church, wives, flings, his sister, his family, the seemingly scarce few times his family felt like his family and not enemies, and weird-ass looking humans.

Oh, and he was five months and a week clean. Five and a quarter months. Almost half a year. Yay.

He must have nodded off or something—still thinking about church and wives and flings and his sister—but the next thing he knew there was a hand on his thigh and he almost jumped out of his skin (which, in all honesty, he wouldn’t have been against if jumping out of his skin also meant getting out of these ropes. _“Angel,_ baby,” Val’s voice drawled.

He felt sick. “Mista Valentino?” The hand slid farther up his thigh and he tried to ignore how it made his skin crawl. “I-I’m really sorry, did I do somethin’?” ...his family, the seemingly scarce few times his family felt like his family and not enemies...

”What do you think, baby?”

...Weird ass looking humans... ”...The club?” He asked.

”That’s it, Angel Cakes.” His thumb pulled against the top part of his boot—if he tried to take off his boots or something, Angel was gonna fucking _scream—_ “You _knew_ I was gonna be angry about that, didn’t you?”

He swallowed—fuck, he couldn’t feel his arms. “Yeah, Daddy,” he said. “I’m sorry, Daddy. It-It was stupid, I won’t do it again.”

”I know,” Valentino said, because of course he knew, because he could get Angel to do whatever the fuck he wanted. Fuck, Angel hated him, that stupid, four armed, heart eyed son of a bitch—

His phone vibrated on him—he went rigid. “What’s that, baby?”

...And five months and a week clean.

”Nothing,” he lied, but Valentino’s hand was already on him, working his phone out of his pocket. “It’s just my phone, pro’ly some software update or somethin’, really—“ He had the feeling it wasn’t, but he didn’t really have a way to know.

Valentino didn’t say anything when he looked at it, and Angel was just a bit too scared to ask, so he sank in more into the mattress and flexed his hands and prayed to Jesus or God or Satan or whoever the _fuck_ was listening that it was nothing that was gonna piss Val off.

Valentino clicked his tongue. “Angel, baby, you’re still talkin’ to her?” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “You should know better, baby—did you think Daddy wouldn’t find out?”

“Th-That’s not it, Daddy—I haven’t... I haven’t been textin’ her, she’s been textin’ me.” And he missed her and she was his best friend and all, but why would he care about that? “I’m sorry, Mista Valentino, I didn’t think you’d be mad, I haven’t texted her back, honest.”

”Angie, baby...” He looked over him instead of his phone. “You’ve been apologizing a lot recently—it doesn’t seem to be doin’ a whole lot, though, sugar.”

He squirmed, pinned by Valentino’s gaze—and the ropes around his gloved wrists and boot clad ankles. “I’m sorry, really—it was nothin’, I promise, she...” He trailed off.

”She what, baby cakes?” He cupped his chin, rubbed his thumb against his bottom lip.

”...She was... doin’ me a favor, it was my fault, my idea, I swear, Val.” He didn’t stop—probably wasn’t going to. “I’m sorry, I’ll stay in the studio, promise, Daddy, it’ll never happen again.”

”Doesn’t mean much, baby,” he said. “You know I’m gonna keep you in the studio, after a stunt like this.” All the time that had passed and Valentino had been keeping this thing in his back pocket, just waiting to use it to manipulate Angel to do whatever he fucking wanted. “But let me tell you, Angie, baby, if I ever see your gal pal again, I might have to make her pay for my club, too.”

No. No. “Don’t do that,” Angel said. “It was my fault, I’m sorry, put howeva many years on my contract ya want, Mista Valentino—“

”But that’s not fair to you, Angel Cakes,” he crooned. “You didn’t do it by yourself now.” He pushed his phone back into his hand, which was still tied up and he was losing feeling in his fingers, so it was kind of a dick move because he was pretty sure he was gonna drop it. “Tell her to stay out of my sight and we won’t have a problem, darlin’.” His hand moved down his side, from the top of his rib cage to his hip. “...How long have you been clean?”

Five months and a week. Five and one fourth of a month. Longer than he’d ever really been clean. “Not long,” he said.

” _Angel.”_

”A week,” he lied. “Left... Left my stash at the hotel, I didn’t think ya’d let me go back and get it.” Valentino slipped a thumb into the waistband of his shorts. “Just a week, only a week, Daddy.”

”You could have told me, baby,” he said. “You know I would have given you a line or two if you asked _nicely_.”

”Ya also woulda given me another decade or two on my contract,” he said—with how pissed he had been, probably more, shit always got more expensive when he was angry, because he knew Angel was desperate and he could shake him down for as many years as he wanted.

”Speak up, Angel Cakes.”

He shut his mouth—last thing he needed was for Valentino to get even more pissed about literally anything. “That’s what I thought.” He was seriously gonna let go of his phone—and it was gonna fall on the floor and break and shatter, and then he wouldn’t have a phone. The case was pretty fucking janky too, so it was just gonna... _die._ Fuck he hated Valentino. “How long have you been clean _really,_ baby? You know I don’t like it when you lie to me.”

”I-I’m not lying,” he said, even though that was a lie, and they both fucking knew it. It didn’t matter.

Nothing really mattered at this point.

He heard the slap before he felt it—Valentino had done worse to him, he reminded himself, even with the stinging heat blooming on his face. “Answer me, Angie.”

Five months and a week. How long had he been kind of wanting to give up the dust? How many times had he looked over bags of white powder and poured lines and hated himself? How many times did he wake up in the middle of the night with bloody noses and full body tremors, able to _hear_ the disgust in his family’s voices when they realized just _what_ he was all over again? How many times had he gotten high out of his mind in order to escape that terrible, suffocating darkness that wrapped around him only to find it followed him, even as high as he got? All he had to show for it all was five months and a week straight.

Valentino hit him again—his ears rang, but he’d been hit harder. “I don’t like bein’ ignored, Angel Cakes.” The more he pissed Val off, the more terms of endearment he seemed to use. “Why won’t you answer me, baby?”

He wasn’t high enough for this, seriously. He’d been tied up before, smacked around, but god, when Valentino did it, it was so ridiculously unsexy it made him feel sick. “Not long, Daddy,” and really, was it even a lie? In the great scheme of things, it was basically nothing, but it had been _so_ difficult, and he just needed this, he needed this one, short little victory, and he didn’t want Valentino to take it away from him.

”You shouldn’t lie to me,” he cooed. “Come on, sugar—tell me.” His fingers wrapped around his throat—alright! He could deal with this, Valentino could choke him until he passed out, so long as he didn’t lose this one little thing. “I don’t like how quiet you’re being, baby—don’t I pay you to make noise for me?” His hand slid down from his neck, and fuck, Angel never got used to _his_ hands on him.

 _“Angel.”_ He felt him undo a button, he had squeezed his eyes shut by now, but it didn’t do much, not nearly enough. “ _Answer_ me, baby.”

”Five weeks and a month,” he said, weakly. All he had to fucking show for his effort. All that fucking effort, and it wasn’t even a fucking year, not even half of one. “Fuck—I mean...” He wanted to die, holy shit. “...Fives months and a week.” Valentino’s hand stilled on him, but he felt _sick,_ and he couldn’t get the image of Valentino over him out of his head, and his eyes were closed like he was concentrating on it, but it was all that he was gonna see when he opened his eyes anyway.

”Damn, Angel Cakes. Almost half a year.” Fuck, he _knew._ Not _even_ half a year, and a part of him had been too proud, and now— “Poor baby, you must be _dyin’_ for a dose.”

No. He could not say that. _He could not say that,_ not **_now_**.

Ever the dumbass he was, he almost said it, _No, I’m not,_ but he thought better at the last second, with that first letter resting on his tongue, and holy _fuck,_ if he had said it, Valentino would have either skinned him alive, snapped his neck, raped him, or a terrifying mix of all three. “It’s fine, Mista Valentino,” he tried to say instead. “R-Really—“

”You know, it’s talk like that that makes it sound like you’re trying to take this whole redemption thing seriously,” Valentino said—and grinned, when had he opened his eyes. “You _were_.”

He clenched his hands so tight he thought he heard his phone crack, he looked away from Valentino. “I-I can’t—“

”Just ask, baby cakes,” he cooed. “All you need to do is ask me nicely, Angel.”

His stomach clenched too, heart dropping into it from his chest. “One o’ your doses ain’t worth a fuckin’ decade,” he said, but it didn’t have the venom he wanted it to, and worse, he wasn’t even sure he meant it, because he remembered how fucking good getting high felt when he was stressed, and god _damnit_ , was he stressed now.

Maybe, just maybe, Val was just going to taunt him with it—of course he wanted drugs, five months hadn’t changed that craving, that was how he coped with shit, Valentino was just messing with him—the one thing that had given him comfort all these years and he was going to dangle it just out of reach, but Angel wasn’t gonna reach for it.

His grin seemed to widen. “Only for you, darlin’. And just this once.”

...Where did he get that syringe from? 

Angel strained against the ropes. “Daddy, please—I’m good, really, Daddy.” He tried to move away, but obviously couldn’t because he was still tied down, but holy fuck, he had never wanted to move more in his life. “Really, I don’t need it, come on, Daddy—“ He squeezed his eyes shut again, because he didn’t want to see this. “Daddy, please, oh my fuck—“

Five months. Five months and a week. Was that twenty one weeks? Was that over one hundred forty days? The math was better than this, because he had gone so far, and none of it mattered, none of it mattered.

He felt the needle prick his skin, was still pleading, clinging to these twenty one weeks, because they had been terrible, he hated them, every last minute of them, but he didn’t want this, oh, _god,_ he didn’t, he—

“ _Shh..._ ” Valentino ran a hand through his hair, a mocking parody of comfort, pushed the plunger down. “It’s not so bad, baby. Deep breaths for me, that’s it, Angel Cakes.” He was gasping for breath, couldn’t fucking _breathe._

”Goddamnit,” he breathed. “Val, _no.”_ His grip on him tightened until he knew it’d leave bruises, and faintly, he almost thought he heard something cracking, _goddamnit_. “Daddy, please, I’m sorry, you don’t even fuckin’ like needle drugs, fuck _you—_ “

Fuck, he forgot how good Val’s drugs hit, because when they hit, they were pretty fucking good, but all the same—

He hated this, hated himself, he couldn’t fucking—

“That’s better,” Valentino murmured. “Are you done now, Angel Cakes? Are we all done? You’ve been such a good boy this week, I feel like you _needed_ this.” He pulled on his hair. “If you’re good for me later, I’ll pour you out a line, baby—you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

No. No, he wouldn’t.

Five months and a week, gone. Almost half a year suffering to try and better something—his health? Because that mattered now that he was dead. His _mental_ health? Maybe being clean took a toll on it, maybe it was more harm than good.

Not that it mattered, not anymore, it was gone. It didn’t matter. Time blurred along with his vision. He wanted to go back to thinking about _church_. “Jackass,” he hissed. “Ya... Ya son of a bitch—“ He pulled against his bonds, but damnit, he was tired, and high, and he had forgotten how _good_ it felt.

”Be nice, baby cakes. I’m doin’ you a favor, you know that.” Maybe a part of him kind of did—it wasn’t like he had actually had a chance at redemption, of getting clean and _staying clean,_ those five months was the longest he had ever lasted, would ever last. “Come on, you _wanted_ that, didn’t you?”

He had been doing so good! Five months!

_F_

_I_

_V_

_E_

_M_

_O_

_N_

_T_

_H_

_S_

And a week! Fuck!

For the love of god, he just couldn’t, he just fucking _couldn’t anymore,_ he was so fucking done. _I was clean for five months,_ he kept thinking. _Valentino fucking ruined this for me. I can’t be at the hotel, I can’t be clean..._ Even thinking about church wasn’t gonna distract him, but why would it?

Molly had hated it when he did drugs, he remembered. Of course she had, because she hated drugs, and she wouldn’t have wanted her twin brother addicted to them. No, she would be so upset to see him like this, and the thought made him feel sick—on his worst nights, he could hear her voice, but it was never the same it had been when he had heard it the previous bad night. The entirety of it, of his mind and his memories, didn’t make sense, but it didn’t matter.

He was so tired, and angry, and _high,_ not even on the drug he’d been craving, no just some other drug so he couldn’t be clean. Some of his thoughts were still in his head, a tangled mess from all this he was thinking—he was pretty sure Valentino hit him again. “Come on, baby—I didn’t give you that much, Angel Cakes. Answer me.”

”...Yes, Mista Valentino,” he said, not a hundred percent sure what he was saying ‘yes’ to, but it didn’t mattered, _nothing fucking mattered._

The ropes came off. He tried to remember when he dropped his phone, but it wasn’t like it fucking mattered. “Good boy,” Val said, but he didn’t _fucking care._ “There’ll be more where that came from if you’re good for me—I already got you set up on a date with a client later tonight, Angel baby, you can manage that, can’t you?”

He forced himself to nod. He wished Valentino would hit him, maybe it’d knock him off his high, one of the best high’s he ever gotten if it weren’t for the burning heat right beneath his skin, broiling with a mix of rage and fear and something sick and tiny and dark that he _loathed._

When he finally got his phone, it wasn’t _broken._ The screen was, white cracks spiderwebbing over the black surface as he swallowed thickly, collapsed into bed—there was no thinking about church and shit right now. Hell was no place for church. He looked at whatever notification he had gotten when Valentino looked at his phone—

A text from Cherri, of course—that wasn’t the worst part.

It was long. Those cracks spread over a bunch of words, he thought his eyes were going to glaze over with how long it was, _I mean, serial killers target sex workers and I’m sure Hell’s full of Jack the Rippers, so I’ve been really worried, and I don’t wanna spam your inbox or anything, but I figured you should know how freaked out I am. I keep thinking something happened,_ god, he was too high for this, how the fuck was he supposed to tell Cherri about this. _Your pig’s okay_ , which was great, but he had never missed his pig more. Fuck, he hated it here.

The text ended in, _I’m going to murder your boss if he hurts you, Angie._

That was not a good thing for Valentino to have seen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Valentines Day gift to myself is fanfiction!

_This was a terrible idea,_ Vaggie thought. She wouldn’t voice it, not with Alastor right there, grinning widely, threateningly as they walked through the halls. It was shiny, gaudy—but Charlie was beside her, and her smile wasn’t nearly as threatening, much more genuine, a bright light in the (metaphorical) darkness of Hell—it comforted a small part of her worries, and riled up the rest.

If anything happened to Charlie, she’d burn down the entirety of Hell singlehandedly, and that was a _promise._

This whole thing had her feeling sick, but she could suck it up.

Valentino’s office was as shiny and unbearable as the rest of the porn studio, but maybe she should have expected that—somehow, this felt like exactly what she had expected when she imagined it, and from the little she knew about Valentino, this somehow managed to suit him.

...Sometimes, Vaggie forgot how weird Hell really was—her girlfriend was the princess of Hell, had been careful to explain just about everything she knew about the rings and sins and the Overlords and royalty, but now, she thought she spent too much time at the hotel, because this somehow felt weirder to her—maybe it was because Valentino was a ten foot moth with a large, scarlet coat and a furry collar, with pink, heart shaped glasses. All things considered, it wasn’t that weird, considering this was Hell, and she was used to Angel Dust (nine feet tall with even more arms than Valentino, different, but not _that_ different) but then she wondered what the point was in trying to make any sense of Hell.

And there they sat, across a desk from a ten foot moth in a red coat, smoking a cigar while they chilled in three chairs, staring at him. Alastor’s smile still looked threatening, Charlie’s was polite, and Vaggie was just trying to keep any and all fear and or outrage off of her expression.

It was getting progressively more difficult, though, because every last minute in this chair, she swore it felt like her skin was crawling, like it was trying to get away from Valentino—neither Charlie nor Alastor seemed nearly as distressed as she was, so she tried to dismiss it as nothing, because she hadn’t been in Hell nearly as long as they have, she hadn’t quite adjusted to the shit that was weird to her but common for Hell.

”You _do_ understand how contracts work, don’t you?” Valentino asked—he took another long drag off of his cigar, pink smoke flowing through the gaps of his teeth. “Bit different then how they worked in the human world.”

Charlie’s smile almost turned dry—at this angle, her nose almost looked canine, eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks, and as beautiful as she always looked to Vaggie, what she really admired was how calm Charlie was somehow remaining. Vaggie kept thinking this was a terrible idea, but if Charlie was at all intimidated by Valentino, she didn’t show it. “ _Believe me,”_ she said, reached out of Valentino’s line of sight to squeeze her hand beneath the desk, the warmth of her palm a comfort Vaggie assumed Hell wouldn’t be the type of place to have. “We do. And we know he signed a contract with you—we just want to pay it off.”

Another, slow, long drag—there was something weird about his gaze, that made her uncomfortable, but she was sure it was difficult to feel comfortable in the same room as an Overlord, anyway—especially when they had posters of topless pornstars on the walls, staring down at them with glazed, glossy eyes. Vaggie wondered how high they all were when they got their pictures taken. “You don’t think you’re the _first_ people who’ve come in here, wanting to own one of my top stars, do you now, darlin’?” _Gross._ Just hearing him call Charlie that made her want to launch herself at him over the desk—she knew she didn’t have a chance at winning any sort of fight with him, but it _almost_ didn’t matter.

”No,” Charlie said, but it must have been a rhetorical question because Valentino kept going.

” _Plenty_ of demons have sit right where you are, wanting to get their hands on whatever soul I can sell them—Angel Dust specifically has had a handful of people lookin’ to bite, but I still have his contract. I still have his soul.” His lips quirked up in a smile—Vaggie tried not to shiver. “But I already know that you’re not looking for his contract for the same reasons they did.”

It was probably a bit weird, but Vaggie almost felt relieved that Valentino didn’t think they all wanted to fuck Angel Dust, like she was self conscious that people would think she wanted to or something—Charlie raised an eyebrow, voice and expression still cool, calm. “Do you now?” Charlie asked.

He tapped a bit of ash off of his cigar onto an ashtray in front of him. “Everyone in the seven rings knows about the princess of Hell’s little passion project. If you were looking to get the word out, darlin’, you should know you _did._ ” A pause—like he was thinking. “...And Angel’s told me a bit about it.”

”He has?” Vaggie asked.

Valentino grinned at her—she didn’t like it. “He has,” he said. “I need to keep an eye on my top performers, know where they’re stayin’. And ever since he left the studio, he _was_ staying at an apartment a few blocks away, until you two changed that.” He gestured, with a pair of his hands towards her and Charlie.

Charlie remained cordial, Vaggie followed her lead, and Alastor was strangely silent, only pops of static and radio feedback reminding them of his presence. “We didn’t change it,” she said. “We offered him a better place to stay and he took us up on it.”

”He _had_ a better place to stay,” Valentino said. “And he didn’t take that—he just knew he could walk all over the two of you without paying rent.” Vaggie wanted to punch that stupid smirk off his face—see how pleased the Overlord was when he was missing a couple teeth. “And he did just that, didn’t he?”

Alastor hummed. “ _Angel Dust didn’t do a whole lot of walking,”_ he said _. “Mostly, it was just limping.”_ There was something strangely accusatory in his tone, still faux polite, still smiling, but Vaggie couldn’t begin to get into what that meant.

”Is that a shock to you?” Valentino asked. He seemed to sit up straighter, satisfied smirk on his face slipping almost into a sneer. “Don’t you three know what his job is?”

”We’re in a _porn_ studio, we know what his job is,” Vaggie said.

”Listen,” Valentino started. “If I took the time out of my day for every fucker that wanted a chance to buy Angel’s contract, I’d be spending all my time in my office dealin’ with all sorts of sickos who’d _love_ to rip all sorts of holes inside him like the lusty sinners they are. The only reason you’re actually in here is because I made a bet with Vox over who the fuck the princess of Hell and feared radio demon brought along with them, and I’d like a chance to best my boyfriend at something and put him in his place.” He turned his gaze back to Vaggie. “What did you say your name was again, sweetheart?”

She sneered. “Vagatha.” This bastard didn’t get to call her Vaggie, because he was a _porn_ overlord, and she’d like to keep her name out of his mouth—she barely responded to Vagatha anymore, it felt like someone else’s name when she said it. She _really_ didn’t like the way he was looking at her. “Charlie’s girlfriend. Manager of the Happy Hotel.”

He must have been expecting that—she was just some common demon to him, her position probably meant nothing to him. His smirk was back. “Easiest bet I ever won, and I have _you_ to thank, sweetheart.” Gross. Fucking gross. Granted, just sitting in the same room as him made her feel gross, the same way thinking about Alastor (a fucking serial killer! A fucking cannibal!) being in the same building as not just _her_ , but her _girlfriend_ made her feel... _distressed._

None of this felt right to her, and she couldn’t tell if it was the general _wrongness_ that had settled onto her skin when she first arrived in Hell or if... if something was off. “Where’s Angel?” She asked.

”Sorry, baby,” he said. “He’s in the middle of a shoot, you can’t talk to him.” He exhaled smoke in her direction, pink and sickeningly sweet—she coughed once into her elbow. “It’d be a waste of time, and time’s money. Don’t think you’d be able to afford a conversation with him anyway, you’re gonna have to stick with your girlfriend for now.”

 _Gross._ She knew by the way he smiled at her that he knew that was not at _all_ what she was after—was every demon in Hell looking for ways to piss her off? Sometimes it sure felt like it, she settled for curling her hands into her fists and muttering beneath her breath, _“Jodido matarte bastardo enfermo.”_

He _grinned_ , eyed her up and down. “ _Me gustaria verte intentar,_ sweetheart.” Her heart dropped—it hadn’t occurred to her he might be able to speak Spanish. “Damn, what are you? Mexican? Puerto Rican?” None of his fucking business, that’s what. “Salvadoran?” She didn’t think her expression had changed, but something on her face must have given it away. “Shit, you have any idea what some demons would pay down here to fuck a Latina lesbian? If you’re looking for some cash, I’d be _more_ than willing to offer you a contract.“ She really didn’t like the way he was looking at her—Valentino tapped more ash off his cigar, but his gaze didn’t leave her. “Not for long, maybe start with one decade, if you’re interested, nothing _permanent_ —“

”I think I’ll fucking pass.” She remembered what she heard about Valentino—he went for demons who were young, recently deceased, stupid. Not too recently deceased, because you could spook them when they were too new in Hell, but just recent enough so that they didn’t really know what they were agreeing to—he was _way_ too fucking late for her, if he thought she was too recent to know better.

”Aw, baby, you didn’t even let me finish.” She did not _want_ him to finish. She had gotten sick of the way men looked at her in life—she had forgotten how much she had hated it, it had been awhile, but this was just making her feel sick. One of his hands reached over, like he was gonna grab her—probably something small, stupid, like stroking her hair or cheek, people had done that to her before and she had survived just fine, but she still felt somewhat threatened by it. Not that it mattered, because Charlie had caught him by the wrist before his fingers ever made contact with her. 

...That had never happened before. A part of Vaggie was confused, a part wanted to kiss her girlfriend, but maybe she’d save that for the hotel.

Similarly, Valentino also looked surprised, but when Charlie let go of his wrist, he just pulled his hand back and didn’t make a move to touch Vaggie again—thank _God._

”Look,” Charlie said, obviously not wanting the conversation to get derailed to whatever the fuck that had just been, her other hand still squeezing Vaggie’s lovingly “We just want his contract. I know he’s been working for you for a while, but we can pay off whatever’s left on his contract, just name your price.”

“No.”

Charlie blinked. “...Huh?”

”Why would I want to give up my top performer?” Valentino asked. He chuckled, crushed the lit end of his cigar into the ashtray. “Whatever amount of money you can give me, Angel can earn double that for me—and why do you want him, so he can go back to your rundown hotel and take another crack at _redemption_?” He looked _amused_. “You think porn stars got a place in Heaven, darlin’?” He chuckled. “No—Heaven’s only for rich people, rich people who were born rich, stayed rich their entire lives, and never had to worry about getting their hands dirty to earn an income. I know you think Angel’s _good_ , but good and evil don’t matter, and they never have. Sin doesn’t dictate good or evil, darlin’, just who gets sent where, and we got sent here.” Something heavy settled into her chest. “And Angel belongs here, doped up and safe and sound in the studio.”

Charlie hesitated a moment. “...Whatever money Angel makes you, we can _double_ it.”

”Whatever you wanted Angel for,” Valentino said. “I’m sure you can find another whore workin’ a corner who needs a place to crash.”

”But we don’t want—“ Charlie hesitated, started again, trying to convince him. “We just—“

”Sorry, darlin’, but I’m not giving up his contract that easily.” Vaggie entertained the thought of knocking out his stupid teeth. “He’s got a _long_ time working for me, lots of debt to pay—at this rate, you’re going to be waiting at least another two centuries before I can part with his soul, more if he keeps using.”

The room went silent. “Keeps?” Charlie questioned.

”That’s not it,” Vaggie said, because it _couldn’t_ be. “Angel’s been clean for five months.”

”You sure about that?” Valentino asked. “He wasn’t clean when he came in here.”

”No,” Charlie said, voice soft. Just that. _No._

”First thing he did was go to me for drugs,” Valentino responded. “And he’s been doing _plenty_ of lines in his dressing room.”

“No,” Charlie insisted, her voice still soft. “He was...”

”He was clean,” Vaggie said, just as certain as her girlfriend, and just as horrified at the idea of him not being clean. It didn’t make any sense—the thought drifted through her mind and just didn’t compute. “At the hotel, he was—“

”He’s a good actor, isn’t he?” Valentino asked. “It’s in the job description, sweetheart. Consider yourselves lucky—most demons have to pay to see a performance like that.”

He was clean. Vaggie _knew_ he was clean, she just did.

”If you three are done wastin’ my time, I have actual work I need done, and I don’t think I have enough cigars to deal with you.” His gaze went back to her, but he didn’t reach out to touch her again. “Come back if you need to discuss _contracts_ with me again—“ His expression twisted back to amusement. “—and I’ll tell Angel Dust you stopped by.”

”I’ve never wanted to kill a man more,” Vaggie said, shoes clicking on the sidewalk outside the studio. She was bristled, eyes wide, teeth gritted like she was still in that chair and ready to launch herself at Angel’s boss and murder him.

Charlie reached out to clasp her shoulder. “Are you okay?” She asked. “What was it he said to you?”

”Ugh, nothing, it was... my mistake.” Charlie’s hand moved to cup her cheek and she leaned into the contact. “You’ve... never done something like that before.”

”No,” Charlie said. “But I had to do something, I guess—he could hurt you, but I have my status as princess, heir to the throne to protect me, you...” She smiled weakly. “You don’t have anything like that.” And Vaggie did enough protecting her—Charlie could handle one guy hitting on her, and it had been brief, minor...

 _“Why, that’s not true at all, Charlie!”_ Alastor said, grinning still. “ _Vaggie has her sharp stick to protect her.”_

And the sweet moment was ruined. Vaggie scowled and turned to him. “Why did you even come? You didn’t do anything!”

” _My dear,_ _what would you have wanted me to do? Flirt with him in Spanish?”_

”I was not _flirting_ with that creep!” Vaggie hissed, but Alastor just laughed.

 _”Whatever it was you expected me to do, I couldn’t do it—maybe you haven’t been here long enough to have seen the horror shows petty arguments between Overlords can create, but I’m certain you’ve at least heard about them.”_ Charlie knew she had. _“We already agreed that harming Valentino would get us nowhere. I’m afraid we’ll have to find something else if we’re really going to get Angel Dust back at the hotel.”_

”You say that like we’re not going to,” Charlie said. “Don’t you want Angel back?” Alastor didn’t respond immediately. “Al?”

 _”Valentino doesn’t seem to like rich people,”_ he mused.

”Al!”

Vaggie crossed her arms tightly over her chest and looked back at the studio. “Can’t you do that weird, horrifying thing you did with the blimp to his studio?”

Alastor hummed. _“Are we alright with bringing Angel back to the hotel in pieces and possibly destroying thousands of unrelated lives?”_

”Never mind,” Vaggie said, because the answer was no, they weren’t.

_”I’m fresh out of ideas then, my dear—perhaps we should talk to Angel’s friend, Kerry—“_

”Cherri,” Vaggie corrected, but Alastor ignored her.

_”—and see if she’s in the market for a hotel room and group therapy sessions.”_

This wasn’t getting anywhere, Charlie sighed, already unsure how to proceed. Valentino had suggested them just finding a new patron for the hotel, but... “I’m all for Cherri staying at the hotel if she wants,” she said. “But this isn’t just about the hotel.”

Alastor made one of his strange, radio noises. _“What else is this about then, my dear? We do want Angel back now as a patron, don’t we?”_

”Of course,” Charlie said. “But we also care about him?” It came out as a question, not the confident statement she had meant it to be. “And his wellbeing? And we don’t want him miserably working at a porn studio for the rest of his afterlife high out of his mind, under the thumb of a short tempered, sadistic overlord?” Both Alastor and Vaggie stared at him. “...Don’t you guys—“

She felt eyes on her. Someone was watching

”...Charlie,” Vaggie said. “You did that thing where you look like you’re in the middle of a good monologue or about to burst into song, but now you’re all quiet and it’s kind of freaking me out, hon.”

She turned around.

 _“Perhaps she can’t hear us,”_ Alastor suggested. “ _Perfectly reasonable considering her lack of ears.”_

”I _love_ her lack of ears, Radio Demon!” Vaggie exclaimed—it was not the sweet sentiment she probably meant it to be. “Charlie, what is it?”

Instead of responding, she stepped towards a nearby alleyway—she was certain she was being watched, someone had been watching them.

Alastor and Vaggie followed behind her as she approached the alleyway—a set of eight, red eyes looked at her and narrowed. “It’s you,” Charlie said.

”Yeah?” Arackniss didn’t step out of the shadows. “The fuck are you doin’ here?”

Charlie didn’t bring her gaze off of him, gestured to the porn studio. “We were...” She paused. “...How long were you following us?”

He didn’t answer. Charlie took a step forward. “You were following us, right?”

She hadn’t noticed the cigarette in his hands—did everyone smoke in Hell? He dropped it to the ground and crushed it beneath his shoe. “Where the fuck’s Anthony?” He asked.

”I tried to tell you last night,” Charlie said. “But you walked away.”

”That doesn’t answer the question.” He met her gaze. “Where is he?”

Charlie wrung her hands, tried to think of how to start. “...Have you heard about the Happy Hotel?”

A brief look of recognition flashed across his face. “You’re the broad who got in that fist fight with a news anchor, right?”

Vaggie scoffed softly. “That’s all you remember about the interview?”

Arackniss scowled. “Figured it’d be nicer to mention the fist fight instead o’ the interview, because most o’ it was just fuckin’ insulting, but sure, yeah—“ He leaned back, expression still grin. “—that’s all I remember, my bad.”

Vaggie went quiet behind Charlie, and she turned her head to catch a look at her before focusing her attention on Arackniss again. “What was so insulting?”

”You really think demons are gonna come to you lookin’ for redemption when you call them all freaks and fuck ups?” He leaned back totally against the wall, and Charlie tried not to deflate. “I mean, fuck, sinners down here have been called worse, but no one’s gonna fuckin’ go to a hotel if it’s just gonna insult them the entire time. You put that on posters inside or somethin’?” There was a beat. _“_ That and there’s no fuckin’ way redemption is fuckin’ possible, the only way out is dying _again._ ”

Charlie moved some of her hair behind her shoulder. “I... think you have a point. Um...” Arackniss looked bored, but maybe that was just his face? “Angel Dust was staying at the hotel, for about over a year...” She rubbed the back of her neck. “We paid for his food and boarding. He attended group therapy/support group sessions and quit PCP.”

Arackniss snorted. “You don’t know Anthony,” he said. “He’d never quit.”

”He was clean for five months,” Charlie said.

” _Sure._ ”

Charlie tried not to bristle—getting frustrated wasn’t going to help them. “Why are you looking for Angel Dust anyway?”

Arackniss paused. “...Family stuff,” he said at last.

”Are you worried about him?”

”Whats the worst that’s gonna happen to that asshole?” He asked. “Not like he can overdose again—if he has enough nose candy and Vodka, he’ll be fuckin’ fine.” He got another cigarette out, lit it and folded one arm across his chest. “...Why would I worry about him?”

“Well...” She rocked back on her heels. “Here’s the thing—you uh... know how he’s a porn actor and all? He works in that studio.” She gestured back to the studio in the distance. “He works for Valentino.”

 _”Right._ ” Arackniss took a quick drag off his cigarette. “The porn overlord. Not like I’m fuckin’ surprised, last I fuckin’ heard, he was more than fine workin’ for that prick.”

Charlie looked around—she was just... standing in an alley, Alastor and Vaggie somewhere behind her. Suddenly, it occurred to her this might not be the best place to have this conversation. “...Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it here, it’s... a bit.” In the back of her mind, she thought maybe she shouldn’t really be the one to get into all this, but... “You should come with us, back to the hotel, we can talk there—it’d be... nice to learn more about Angel’s brother, he’s mentioned you a few times.”

”Yeah, ‘cause Anthony and I were thick as _thieves_ up there?” Smoke filtered though the gaps in his teeth. “Whatever, I went all the way out here anyway. Sure.”

”Really?” Charlie asked—she didn’t actually expect him to agree. She was hopeful, ever the optimist, but she wasn’t stupid and she had come to almost expect rejection when she brought up the hotel.

”Why the fuck not. Just don’t expect me to sign up for your redemption shit.”

”Okay,” she said. “We can manage with that.”

They had managed to stop Cherri from beating Arackniss up and had explained the situation to everyone in the hotel. Reactions were mixed—Niffty looked upset, Husk muttered something about insects, and glinting in Cherri’s eye was something Charlie could only describe as _murder._

She was done talking about Valentino and Angel—Arackniss had been quiet most of the time and got to his feet. “Sounds like Anthony, alright.”

Vaggie looked over at him. “You heard what we just said, right? About his contract?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And Valentino?”

“Yeah,” Arackniss said. “And Anthony’s always gettin’ himself into stupid problems like that. That _deficiente_ ’s gonna find out, one of these days, how to quit makin’ problems for himself—he’s _fine._ ”

Vaggie looked disgusted. “Because Valentino said he was?”

“Because Anthony gettin’ paid to get fucked by men while high out o’ his fuckin’ mind is the most in character thing I’ve heard about him from you. Gettin’ clean? Workin’ towards redemption? _Owning a pig_? Why the fuck do you think he’s in Hell?”

”Angel was clean for five whole months!” Niffty exclaimed. She had settled on the floor to pet Fat Nuggets who desperately wanted to investigate the stranger in the hotel, despite the fact that that stranger had no penchant for hellpigs. Arackniss barely even looked at her before responding, and his voice sent a new wave of excitement through Fat Nuggets, who was just _dying_ to greet him.

”Believe me, doll, I’d like to hear that my brother was tryin’ to get clean. No one was fuckin’ happy when he OD’d, even if he was a candy ass queer—but Anthony isn’t the type to get clean. Not for anyone or anything—he just wouldn’t. Sorry you folks liked him enough to want him to get clean, but just imagine Anthony fuckin’ miserable, and that’s what he’s like when he ain’t high.”

Niffty scratched Fat Nuggets behind the ear. “Gosh, I haven’t been called ‘doll’ since I was circled back in the fifties,” she sighed, but for the most part, everyone ignored her, except for the pig.

”Oh, shut the fuck up, short stack,” Cherri hissed. “You haven’t spoken to Angel in _years_ , you don’t know what he’s like!”

“What? You think just ‘cause you hang out with him at clubs every couple o’ weeks and get drunk you know everything about him? You don’t know _shit_ about Anthony, just ‘cause your friends with him.”

”Angel’s—“

”Quit callin’ him that, his name’s _Anthony,_ _Gesù fottuto Cristo_.”

”You fucking bastard, no wonder Angel fucking hates you!” She stood up from her chair. “He said you were a prick, and he wasn’t kidding, why the fuck do you suddenly care about him now that he’s not here?”

Charlie grasped her shoulder. “Cherri, calm down—“

Cherri pulled her hand off and turned to face Arackniss still. “You and the rest of your family have been ignoring him for decades and you went looking for him, found out he’s in a porn studio, that no one’s spoken with him in a week, right after an E-Day too, and you’re just gonna march out the door talking about how we don’t know him?”

”I guess!” He moved towards the door.

”Oh, come on—“ Charlie said, but the conversation was really over with. Arackniss left out the door and Cherri sat back down in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest.

 _“Well, I was just about to suggest we trade Angel for his brother and have Arackniss stay at the hotel,”_ Alastor said, swiped a drink Husk had started pouring and spoke right over his shouting. “ _But it appears that ship has sailed._ ”

”That’s kidnapping,” Charlie said. “He doesn’t want to be at the hotel—we can’t redeem someone if they don’t want it.”

 _”— your own_ fucking cocktails—“ Husk continued to shout.

Charlie looked back at Cherri, still in her chair. Fat Nuggets moved over and nudged her foot with his snout. “Cherri, are you okay? You seemed pretty angry just a second ago... And I get the feeling it’s only partially because of Angel’s brother.”

Cherri sighed, shook her head. “Worried about him,” she said. “Gonna fucking kill his boss, and then his asshole of a brother.” She propped her elbow on her leg, rested her chin in her hand as she slumped over and used her other hand to reach down so Nuggets could sniff it. “And then probably his parents too, just his entire shitty family, just _anyone_ that can hurt him.” Charlie didn’t have a clue just how close they were, but she got the feeling _really_ close, and something about the devotion between two friends like that really warmed her heart.

”...It’s getting late,” Charlie said. “We should all get to bed, seriously. Cherri, you’re more than welcomed to stay the night at the hotel again.”

”Don’t I have to pay?” She asked.

”No,” Charlie said. “Don’t worry about it, really.” They all had enough to worry about.

He hadn’t told Cherri, but the “first time” Valentino had raped him hadn’t really been the first time.

He remembered he had been drunk. High. He remembered it had happened after about a decade of Valentino making... comments on his body, his work, him... Sorts of lingering touches and gazes that had felt somewhat different, but he had just dismissed it all, because it hadn’t gone any farther than that, but...

Then he had been in Val’s office. He had cupped his face and asked him how drunk he was, pulled a bill out of Angel’s top and told him how beautiful he was, what a good little moneymaker he was for him... had bent him over his desk...

Valentino hadn’t hit him or anything. Angel had been confused, out of it. For a minute, it hadn’t even felt like it was Valentino doing it to him, he almost thought it was some client, or someone else who just couldn’t keep their hands to themself, and Valentino had tugged the miniskirt he had been wearing down, torn off his top and thrown him on his desk, lying on his back.

He hadn’t thought of it as rape when it had happened. He had been tired. Drunk. High. He hadn’t wanted it, had wanted to say no, but Val had been good to him, up until then, and sometimes late at night, he could feel the wood of his desk, cool against his back while Valentino caressed him, smiling so sweetly he felt sick, whispering to him and making him respond because it was _rude_ to ignore your boss, Angel Cakes, and he didn’t want Val to make him learn some manners did he?

No, no, Mista Valentino. God. He remembered Valentino had gotten rougher with him, but not much. Not enough to really scare him. Just so he couldn’t deny that _this_ was happening, even though he hadn’t known what _this_ was, except that it made his throat tight and he wanted to stop, but Val...

Val didn’t stop for anyone. You could squirm and writhe and struggle and beg and plead and cry—it didn’t matter at the end of the day. Valentino got what he wanted.

He remembered how high he had gotten that night when he was at home, trying to get out of his own body (his beautiful, lovely body) because it had felt so... gross to him. Whenever he nodded off in bed, he swore he felt Valentino’s hands on him and it had woken him up, just to fall back asleep—work the next day had been rough, but Valentino had only smiled at him, given him three lines and stroked his hair when he brought up a new John. The next time he had seen Valentino after that, he had given him a brand new pair of boots. Angel had just felt numb—like he had imagined it all.

And then, later, Valentino had gotten more... grabby. Violent. He had come to expect rough treatment, and every compliment felt like a threat, and every touch had him flinching, and he spent nights either feeling phantom hands on his body that he didn’t want to feel, or his mind was back in that alley, suddenly wishing he could go back, swallow his pride and get his brother to bail him out of trouble—he hadn’t wanted it then.

He hadn’t needed it then—or, maybe, he had, and just didn’t know it.

God, he was so stupid.

”Hon, it’ll be okay,” Vaggie said, squeezing her hand. Charlie made herself sit down next to her in bed while Vaggie took the bow out of her hair. “We’ll figure something out, like...” She trailed off. “I don’t know. Can you get all royal with him?”

”No,” Charlie said. “I don’t think ordering Valentino around will actually do anything.” Plus, she always felt stupid ordering someone around, like she was more a girl playing at being a princess than anything. Vaggie reached over and stroked her hair, pushing closer to her. “Or were you talking about Arackniss? It might be kind of rude to use my title to make him listen to me.”

Vaggie went silent—they could figure something out, maybe, but it’d be best to do it fast, and she wasn’t sure how long it would take. She wasn’t even sure how much Angel’s soul was worth, but it didn’t matter if Valentino wasn’t going to hand it over—why? Just to be a douche? Did he actually have a reason? These were the questions. “Are you okay, Vaggie?” Charlie asked after a minute. “You looked kind of... rattled. After we left.”

”Don’t worry about it,” Vaggie told her, smiled gently. “You helped me... It was a nice gesture, I never thought you’d be the one getting defensive over me.”

”You looked uncomfortable,” Charlie said. ”...I just...didn’t like it. I didn’t want him touching you.”

”I didn’t either—and he didn’t.” She corded her fingers through Charlie’s hair. “It doesn’t matter, nothing really happened. Just one more reason to hate the guy, right?” She cupped Charlie’s face. “We’ll figure this out, Charlie. I promise.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “What would I do without you, Vaggie?”

”You’d have more blankets at night.” This was absolutely true.

She chewed her lip idly, Vaggie sighed. “You got that look on your face,” she said. “The one you get when you’re thinking really, really hard about things.”

Charlie sighed and kissed her girlfriend once on the mouth sweetly. “I don’t think I’m gonna get to sleep for awhile, Vaggie, I’m just...” She sighed. “I need to think, and I don’t wanna keep you up.”

”Do you want to talk about it?”

She didn’t think so—she loved Vaggie dearly, she could talk about nearly anything with her, and sometimes, when they got into those conversations where Vaggie told her, she could tell her anything, really, she felt her heart swell inside her chest with the warmest, youngest, truest love you could find in Hell. “I don’t think so, Vaggie, but...” She cleared her throat. “I’m just going to go on a walk, okay? I need a minute alone.”

Vaggie never liked the thought of Charlie going out alone—probably because she was so new in Hell, Charlie didn’t blame her. A lot of people struggled to adjust to how things worked in Hell, and she wouldn’t be surprised of Vaggie was stressed from all that, if she felt like her and Charlie needed to stay safe inside the hotel where they only had to worry about one serial killer, where people really couldn’t hurt them. “Do you want me to come with you?” She guessed the answer flashed across her face because Vaggie settled for squeezing her hand again. “Just stay safe, okay? If you stay out for too long, I _will_ come looking for you.”

Charlie smiled. “Okay,” she said. “That works.” She leaned over and pecked her cheek. “Love you, Vaggie.”

She shut her eyes, sighed while Charlie’s hand slipped from her’s. ”Love you more.”

”Love you most.”

”Love you mostest.” They could go back and forth all night, all day, for a few eternities, and it’d never, ever grow old.

Hell at night was a sight—not a good one, not a bad one, just a sight. It was still pretty warm, and it was still very, very, very red.

The streets were strangely empty—except for some strange, damned creature of the night baying somewhere distant.

She thought she needed the fresh air—just a moment, to clear her head.

Things with the hotel had looked to be going uphill, and now they were going downhill again, it looked, but that didn’t matter in comparison to Angel, because Angel was more than just a patron. She told herself to quit getting frustrated, that the only person staying at the hotel was gone, for reasons that weren’t her fault or Angels—it was unfair, and she just wanted everything to work out and be smiles and rainbows, but that wasn’t gonna happen.

She took a deep breath—this wasn’t going how she wanted it to. This wasn’t what she wanted to happen—and she wanted to focus on the hotel, but Angel Dust was more than a means to prove her redemption idea wasn’t stupid, more than just a patron, he was a person and he was hurting and something bad might have happened to him, and he needed help, and that was infinitely more important than the hotel.

The fact she had to keep reminding herself of that hurt her to her core, but damnit, she was gonna focus on this.

Alastor was a bust. She couldn’t buy his contract. She couldn’t kill, didn’t think she could talk Valentino into anything...

She was out of ideas. 

Maybe she could get her parents involved, royalty of Hell and all, but that felt like... cheating. Maybe cheating didn’t matter too much, with this problem being what it was, but she couldn’t go running to her father whenever problems arose, and there was always the chance that her father would refuse to help, or, worse, try and prevent her from continuing to run the hotel, which he had considered when she had first thought of the idea—what if he decided that redemption was _such_ a stupid idea, he wouldn’t allow her to entertain it any longer?

God, she could just imagine the tone in his voice, like it had been a stupid idea to start with, _of course she’d fail._ But she couldn’t, she _wouldn’t_ —but first on the agenda was helping Angel Dust, _first._

She took a deep breath—and realized she heard someone else breathing nearby.

She turned to her right—a long, narrow dark space between two buildings, bathed in shadow. The noise was coming from _there_.

She approached, cautiously. “...Do you just... hang out in alleys constantly or...?”

Arackniss said something in Italian, but Charlie willed herself not to listen because it was almost definitely insulting. “This is a serious question,” Charlie said. “Really, if you need a place to stay or something, the hotel has plenty of rooms.”

”I _don’t_ need a place to stay,” Arackniss told her. “Why are you here?”

”Why are _you_ here?” She asked.

”House caught fire,” he responded.

”That wasn’t what I—“ She stopped. “Oh, really? That sounds terrible.”

”Yeah,” he responded. “Think my Ma left the oven on, but she’s convinced it was my cigarettes, killed us all. We just keep accusin’ each other of murderin’ the family, lovely conversations.” He sighed, pulled out a box of cigarettes. “Want one?”

”Oh, I don’t smoke,” she said. Arackniss pulled out one and lit it. “So, um... why are you here? In the alley?”

Arackniss looked at her flatly. “What did Anthony tell you about me?”

She tried to think of something positive, though the first thing that came to mind was Angel calling him a janky, miserable homophobe. “...You were good with guns,” she said.

Arackniss nodded. “Still am, I’m even better with six arms.”

”Were you and Angel Dust close?” Charlie asked. “Up there, I mean, obviously you aren’t now.”

He paused. “...No,” he said. “Never were. Didn’t need to be, didn’t wanna be.” he flicked a piece of ash onto the cement. “He even kept Miele an arms length. Loved her to pieces, she knew him better than anyone else—but that wasn’t sayin’ much.”

”What do you mean?” Charlie asked.

”He was... secretive,” he said. “More so as he got older. Like he was hidin’ somethin’, and we all kinda were, bein’ a crime family and all, but we didn’t really keep secrets from each other—except for him. Now we all fuckin’ know why, he’s a queer.” He shook his head. “Somehow managed to be a surprise. Even Molly didn’t know.”

He kept pausing before he started his sentences, Charlie noted. “...Your family’s homophobic?” Arackniss didn’t respond immediately. “...Angel mentioned that. I thought it was kind of sad.” Arackniss rolled his eyes, but Charlie kept going. “I just imagine it being lonely, knowing your family’s in Hell with you, but not wanting to reach out.”

”Our family isn’t any of your business,” he responded. “ _Dio,_ these things just don’t hit like they used to.” He took a longer drag.

”It’s not,” Charlie said. “But Angel made it sound like you don’t really look at him as family.” Arackniss froze, but his expression didn’t change. “...Why are you here? So close to the hotel—why did you come to the hotel if you didn’t really care what happened to him?”

”Difficult to care at this point,” Arackniss said. “You don’t know the half of it with Anthony.”

”I’ve known him—“

”For under two years, I know—I lived with him for the most of my life, and every time he fucked up, I was helpin’ him take care of his problems. He’s got a lot, believe me, I’ve been dealin’ with him for decades, and then I had to find out myself he was—“ He snapped his fingers, muttering, stumbling over the word before just deciding he didn’t care about the word and continued on anyway. “That bastard got in a fight with the whole family ‘bout it. Pops thought he was sick, Ma fuckin’ fainted, couldn’t even look at him, and Miele and I just didn’t know what to fuckin’ do. Pops threw him out without thinkin’, and he went and fuckin’ overdosed. No one coulda done _shit_.” He exhaled slowly through his nose. “...I couldn’t have done anything ‘bout it—he looked at me while Pops was talkin’, rantin’ about what a fuckin’ disgrace he was, and I...” His hand shook for a moment, but only for a moment. “...Had to let him deal with his mistakes by himself at some point.”

Charlie crossed her arms over his chest but Arackniss wasn’t done. “You have any idea the grief he put my family through? The youngest of the family, a fuckin’ queer, what place did a queer have in the Acciai family? He coulda just came back, really, he coulda just fuckin’ came back and never spoke a fuckin’ word about him bein’ a queer, and we coulda eventually reached some fuckin’ semblance of normalcy, but he _didn’t,_ he overdosed instead, and went into a fuckin’ coma.

”...Wasn’t anythin’ to really be done. It was the fuckin’ forties. No one could do shit, it was a fuckin’ coma, he was gonna die, the... bullet in his head just hurried it all up a bit.”

”He was shot?” Charlie asked.

”Yeah,” Arackniss looked down at his cigarette, burning low and glowing red. “A friend of some guys we ended up killin’ a decade before musta somehow heard ‘bout him. ...I was in the room over. When I heard a gunshot, I already kinda knew what happened.”

The horror must have shown on her face. “Shoulda fuckin’ seen Molly, she was heartbroken. I fuckin’ murdered that bastard, but the damage was already done, she was inconsolable, we hoped there was maybe at least a little hope at the time, that it’d be one of those miracles that just sorta happened, that he’d be one of the lucky ones, but, obviously, he wasn’t. Molls cried the entire time during his funeral, it was terrible.

”And then—“ He looked up, meeting her eyes. “—When I fuckin’ _died,_ and showed up in Hell, the first thing I fuckin’ did was try to find my siblings. Never fuckin’ found Molly, thank fuckin’ God, _l_ _a ragazza era un angelo_ , she wouldn’t last a minute down here, but I found _Anthony_ goin’ by a girl’s name, dressed in a black g-string and kinky boots, in the middle of a gangbang between him and _nineteen other fuckin’ demons,_ yeah, I fuckin’ counted! _On TV!_ ”

“So you’re worried about him?”

Arackniss scowled. “Nothin’ to worry about, _Angel’s_ fine. Like I said, he needs some nose candy and a shit ton of Vodka, and he’s got over nineteen men to fuck too, this isn’t Hell for him. This is probably all he ever wanted—and he gets to fuckin’ bury his problems in drugs, my familiy buried all mine in forty seven—he’s an egotistical, obnoxious _gunsel._ Didn’t need him in my life, don’t need him in my afterlife.”

He went quiet—Charlie assumed this was a chance to add something. “I think it’s terrible that I somehow know your brother better than you in under two years.” Arackniss scoffed. “Look, I won’t try to tell you that I know how he was in life, because I don’t, obviously, and you probably knew him better in life than I could ever imagine, but from what I’ve gathered, he’s incredibly intelligent, loyal to a fault, and when it suits him, kind, and he’s a hell of a lot tougher than you really want to give him credit for.

”He actually volunteered to try out redemption. He’s been dealing with Valentino for _decades,_ and he was clean for five months, and when he loves someone, you _know it,_ I have never seen someone treat their friends as nice as he does, or his _pig._ And also, he’s really fucking good at makeup, and right now, he’s...” She trailed off. Arackniss looked at her. “...He’s good, I know he is. He just needs a chance, really—and maybe you’re not worried, but I am, and so’s the rest of the hotel.” She almost doubted that when she said it. “...We care about him, don’t you?”

Arackniss shook his head—she guessed he wasn’t about to answer her. “Stupid... He’s stupid...” He paused and turned to her. “What is he? You trailed off, what...” He trailed off this time.

She ran a hand through her hair, tried to think really hard about this, but... ”I don’t think it’s really... my place to talk about it,” she started, because it almost definitely wasn’t. “But Vaggie and I—the girl I was with earlier, alongside Alastor?—have our... suspicions... About his... relationship with Valentino.”

”And? Isn’t he Anthony’s sugar daddy or somethin’? What, he hit him too? Everyone knows he hits Vox.”

”Probably,” Charlie said. “...Angel hasn’t... _confirmed_ anything, but... he comes to the hotel limping. And sometimes he’s bruised. And... _we’reprettysureValentino’srapedhimmorethanoncebutthat’sprobablyonlythetipoftheicebergwhenitcomestohowhetreatshisemployeesandthatprobablyincludesAngelDust._ ”

Arackniss looked at her. “...Okay, say that again—but slower.”

She didn’t _want_ to say that again—but maybe, somehow, this would help, or at least get Angel’s brother to care a bit more. “Vaggie and I have a theory,” she said. “We... know that Angel signed a contract with Valentino, early on in his afterlife, and that he was drunk and probably high, and his judgement wasn’t super good. And he has a tendency to make him work terrible hours, lots of shoots—puts him on this really strict diet, he started eating three small meals a day to be more healthy when he quit drugs, but he gained some weight and had to stop because he was worried about how Valentino would react.” She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear her design didn’t really have. “Sometimes, when he talks about work, there’s... something on his face... In his voice... In his eyes...”

Arackniss sighed. “...Not like there’s anything you can really do,” he said. “Those contracts are...” He trailed off. “...I’m gonna murder that son of a bitch when I see him.”

Charlie frowned. “Are you talking about Valentino or Angel?”

”Yeah.” He all but flicked his cigarette to the ground, still burning, still lit. “...The fuck you think tellin’ me about this is gonna do? Just ‘cause...” He stopped. “...God fucking _damnit._ ” He rubbed his temples, covered his eyes with his palms like he had a really bad headache. “ _Damnit.”_

”...Are...” She took a step forward. “Are you okay?”

His eyes snapped up to look at her. “ _Sto bene!_ ” He groaned and leaned back, like he was trying to get away from her. “...God—I fuckin’ asked him, last time we talked, I told him, if he didn’t want to—“ He took a deep breath. _“Fanculo_. Pops is gonna hate me for this.”

”What?” She asked.

He was quiet for a long, long moment before he crushed the cigarette with his shoe. “Fine,” he said. He crossed a pair of arms over his chest. “Not entirely sure what I can fuckin’ do, but since you guys seem to want my brother back so much, maybe...” Her heart skipped a beat. “Maybe I can try to help.”

She smiled. “Really?” This was good for many reasons—Angel would be saved, and maybe she was helping bridge that gap between Arackniss and Angel?

”No, I said all that to get your hopes up—whaddya think?” He sighed. “I’ll talk to Pops in the morning ‘bout it, maybe he’ll be somewhat in a good mood.”

”Oh, that’s great! I thought for sure you were going to turn on your heel and leave again when I tried to talk to you!”

He shook his head. “I’m actually doin’ this, fuckin’ hell. I actually fuckin’ agreed to this.”

”You won’t regret it,” Charlie said. “I promise.”

Vaggie had wandered out of their bedroom and into the lobby, sipping a glass of water, perked up when the door opened and she was back—a black, furry, four foot three demon trailing behind after her and she dropped her glass in her haste to pull out her harpoon. “You’re being followed!” She shouted.

”No,” Charlie said. “He’s good. He’s helping.”

Arackniss looked flatly at her girlfriend. “Is this how you greet every demon who walks in here?”

”Most of the demons who come in here,” Charlie said, turning to him. “Are usually pretty threatening.”

Vaggie’s glass had bounced on the floor and shattered—somewhere in the hotel, a door opened and Niffty came running quietly, chipper like it wasn’t two in the morning. “I heard noise!” She said, scanned the room like she was looking for the mess.

”Niffty, I can get it, it’s just water—“ Before Vaggie even finished her sentence, Niffty disappeared and then reappeared with a mop. “Okay, then.”

”That’s Niffty,” Charlie said. “She cleans.”

”She looks like a fifties housewife,” Arackniss said.

Niffty laughed, a weirdly gleeful and girlish titter that was almost a bit too loud for the morning. “I was!” She looked over at him—her smile seemed to grow, maybe that was why Alastor liked her so much, because for the most part, she was usually smiling. “Oh, are we getting a new patron?”

”No,” Arackniss said.

”Probably not,” Charlie told her. “But um—he’s helping us. With Angel Dust?”

”Anthony,” Arackniss said, but Charlie wasn’t going to call him that.

”Oh!” Niffty said. “Really? That’s great! With all that stuff Cherri was saying earlier, I did kind of figure you knew Angel Dust—that and you’re like, a spider, like him, and you got a really similar accent, but I figured it might be kind of rude to assume all spiders in Hell are related.”

”No,” Arackniss said, face blank. “We’re related. Anthony’s my brother.”

”Oh!” Niffty said. “That makes sense! He’s mentioned you—you’re kind of taller than I thought you’d be, in all honesty.”

”...That some sorta joke or somethin’?” Arackniss asked.

Niffty looked confused at him. “I don’t think so?” She was only a few inches shorter than him. “I mean, I’ve this weird tendency to just assume I’m five foot three like I was in life, because I was kinda small, then, so I just assume everyone else is also the height I no longer am, but no one ever is, because I’m not even that height, and everyone in Hell is always either four feet tall, or seven feet tall, I mean, I barely even reached Angel Dust’s knees, and the weirdest thing is _he isn’t even the tallest person I’ve met_ , like, how tall can demons get down here? _How short can we get_? Oh, god, is there demons shorter than me somewhere? I want to meet them, it’d be nice to finally have a friend I’m taller than, but for now I have to just shout _really_ loud at my tall friends to get their attention.”

”...Uh-huh.” Arackniss turned away from her—a door opened somewhere and Fat Nuggets came running out, Cherri a few yards behind and much less enthused.

”I heard shouting and assumed I slept a week away,” Cherri said. “And my first thought was to feed Fat Nuggets.”

Vaggie blinked. “It hasn’t even been four hours,” she said.

”I don’t have any concept of time,” Cherri said. “This is Hell—I (after)live on Red Bull’s and espresso.”

”...That’s not a word,” Vaggie said. “(After)live is not a term anyone uses, that’s not how words work.” Fat Nuggets sniffed her shoe for a good minute before deciding he had no interest in her footwear and wandered closer to Arackniss, who was eying him like he was not actually a pig, despite the fact that he obviously was. “What’s he doing in your room anyway?”

”Sleepover,” she said. “I snatched him.” These felt like two completely different things, though, she guessed they weren’t technically mutually exclusive. “What’s short stack over there doing?”

”I think her name’s Niffty and I think she’s cleanin’,” Arackniss responded. Fat Nuggets approached him, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Niffty perked up. “I heard my name!”

Cherri rolled her eye, Fat Nuggets tried to bite Arackniss’ hand before he jerked it away. “The fuck my brother’s doin’ with a pig anyway?” Arackniss asked, while mentioned pig huffed and snorted. “I know they’re carnivorous lil’ shits and a good way to get rid o’ bodies, but I don’t think that’s what my brother’s been doin’ with this fucker.”

”Nuggs doesn’t eat people,” Cherri said. “Just chips, donuts, fries, limes, cherries, and souls of the unborn.” Charlie was fairly sure she just threw in that last one as a joke. “And one time, a bird, but he’s a sweetheart, and he really misses his Mama, so be nice to him, or we’re gonna add spiders to that list.”

”You’re gonna feed the pig it’s own _Mama_?” Arackniss asked, the last word coming out almost mockingly. Vaggie grabbed Charlie’s arm gently. “That’s fuckin’ cruel. I don’t like Anthony either, but _damn_ , no wonder _you’re_ in Hell.”

”He also ate a bit of ice earlier today with me,” Niffty said. “But I don’t think ice is bad for pigs.”

Charlie turned back to Vaggie. “Are you okay?” Vaggie asked. “What happened?”

”I went for a walk,” Charlie said. “I found Arackniss and he had a change of heart.”

Vaggie shot a glance at Arackniss before looking back at her, hands cupping her face gently. “A change of heart?”

”Yeah,” Charlie said, and bit her lip before adding, “I think he cares a bit more about Angel then he’s letting on.”

”A bit doesn’t mean much, he seemed completely indifferent to him, earlier.” She ran a thumb over Charlie’s cheekbone, touch still perfectly gentle, hands far warmer than Charlie’s ever were—she was pretty sure they started holding hands when Charlie had mentioned how cold her hands got and found out how warm Vaggie’s were, just a bit before they ever started dating. “Not even... indifferent, it looked like he hated Angel.”

”Angel mentioned his family to us before,” Charlie said, simply. “And he didn’t really... have anything good to say, but... Things change, right? They’ve had over fifty years to sort through things, maybe they’re going to bridge that gap.”

Vaggie pursed her lips. “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean... should we trust him?”

”We trusted the cannibal,” Charlie said. “And I mean, if he’s offering to help, Angel might really need it.” ...She wondered if there was something they could have done sooner for Angel Dust—it was a little weird they were only acting now, especially since there wasn’t _really_ a way to know Angel needed their help, considering he had been radio silent for awhile, but wasn’t it a good thing they were doing something now? She really did worry about him. “...You’re always really suspicious of everyone, huh?”

”Makes a good balance,” Vaggie responded and smiled. “You trust everyone a bit more than you really should, I’m more wary than average—and we’ll meet somewhere in the middle.” She stroked Charlie’s hair. “Plus, I’m biased, my family’s terrible, I assume everyone else’s is until proven otherwise.”

Charlie couldn’t help but smile back—she forgot how completely... _human_ Vaggie was. A demon, sure—Vaggie was guarded, and intelligent, and wary, and maybe a bit jaded, but something beneath the layers of toughness really was just a human colored by the world around her, and there was something about it that made her interesting—and the fact that she was actively working on her distrust towards basically everyone but Charlie (slowly but surely) turned it from _interesting_ to _admirable,_ as if Charlie couldn’t love her girlfriend anymore. “If I ever find your parents down here,” she said, even though she and Vaggie did kind of know that they would definitely turn up down here, eventually. “I might beat them up.”

”You wouldn’t,” Vaggie said. “You’d just get all passive aggressive, you’d be like, _‘Oh, I heard so much about you!_ ’ And would be...” She struggled to find an adjective. “You know, _you_.”

”Is that a bad thing?” Charlie asked.

”No, because I love you,” Vaggie told her. “It’s a balance—you be nice, if sometimes passive aggressive, and I’ll beat up someone if they _really_ deserve it.”

Charlie sighed. Fat Nuggets was attempting to get Arackniss to play with him, but snorting wasn’t doing much and he was in the middle of a conversation with Niffty and Cherri (albeit, not really engaging in said conversation, so much as standing there while they talked about Jack the Ripper around him. “I love you, Vaggie,” she said, and found her hands to grip tightly. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay? And then you can go back to doing a bang up job of being a manager, and fighting with Angel Dust, and things will be normal again.”

”Fighting isn’t a part of the job, it just _happens,”_ Vaggie said, but as she said it, she wrapped her arms around Charlie’s neck and leaned closer until their noses were touching. “...But I guess that sounds pretty great.”

She just hoped it was realistic.

Angel usually _liked_ sex, really.

He didn’t know if he was tired, or if he wasn’t in the mood, or what—he didn’t mind sex work, but like, work couldn’t be amazing constantly (and never would be since his boss _was a limp dick, rat bastard, jack off who deserved being condemned to a Hell way worse than this one_ ) so he wasn’t sure if it was one of those days where he got no enjoyment out of sex (and maybe just found no enjoyment in anything), or if something was actually wrong.

Sorting through it didn’t really matter, because he still had a job to do.

He kept himself distant from it all—out of his body, out of his mind. He wasn’t in the mood to do much of anything, including think, but the good news was, he didn’t have to put _that_ much effort into this John. 

His face felt warm—it took him a moment to realize that the warm liquid on his face, dripping onto his thighs and onto this John was not what he thought it was. It tased metallic, salty.

”Fuck,” he said, pulled himself off and away, hand going to his face and coming back, warm and wet. _“Fuck me.”_ He’d probably said that a few dozen times, but this was a totally different context, and wasn’t even remotely sexy.

The John—whatever the fuck his name was—looked at the blood on him. “Your blood’s pink?”

”Yeah?” Fuck, he had forgotten how often his nose bled—he didn’t miss those. Pink dribbled into his hand—fuck, it was really bad. It had been a while since he had had a nosebleed this bad—and it was like it came out of nowhere too.

With his mind racing, it almost felt like he was back in his dressing room, Valentino’s fingers in his hair, holding him down—

Okay, he already had a nosebleed. He didn’t want to be sick too.

His client’s face was hitched into some weird, disgusted expression. “Ya never seen blood before or somethin’?” He asked.

”Does that... usually happen when you...?”

”No,” he said. “But it’s happened before—it’s jus’ some blood.” A metric fuck ton, but still—it was just blood, he wasn’t dying again or anything.

...He still looked grossed out. “So, like... if I end it now, do I have to pay for the full hour, or...?”

Probably. Almost definitely. “Ya should talk ‘bout it with my pimp, down the hall.” He gestured weakly to the door—he knew exactly how Valentino would take him bleeding all over a client— _not good._ “...I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” He looked at him like he was about to explode—maybe it was a normal way to look at someone when their nose bled like this, but most people didn’t look at him like that. Whatever, he just knew this John wouldn’t be coming back for more.

When he left, Angel found himself thinking about his pig again.

Niffty didn’t go back to bed—she just seemed to have spent the entire ~~evening~~ early morning, cleaning, and since Arackniss wasn’t about to get to sleep, he almost kind of appreciated the company, except for the fact that he didn’t _really_ appreciate it, and he wasn’t really one for conversation, but her lingering presence did make him feel slightly less weird for chilling in the dark lobby of the hotel.

People trickled in—a cat with wings, Cherri Bomb, quietly talking with Fat Nuggets chasing a lime that he might have been accidentally rolling away from him. The Radio Demon, who Arackniss was honestly trying to avoid eye contact with, like that would somehow help him. 

His phone was heavier in his hands then his gun usually was—probably a bit weird that a phone call felt worse than shooting someone, but he expected this conversation to go horribly. “Yeah, I know you got that, uh...”

He trailed off when he saw Vaggie and Charlie come down stairs and get a bit too close for his liking—probably shouldn’t talk too much about the family business, he was usually tight lipped about most of it, so this was just a reminder to continue on like usual. “... _thing_ this afternoon and all, but uh... Shit, this is a... lot, you sittin’ down for this? It’s gonna be a minute.”

 _”Not about to faint like your mother,”_ his father said. _“Out with it. It’s too early to hear you stumble over your words for an hour.”_

He could feel Charlie and Vaggie’s eyes on him, but he chose to ignore it—he’d been ignoring Niffty looking at him for awhile, and he was obviously in the middle of something. He readjusted his grip on his phone. “So, you remember Anthony?

“ _My youngest? Who overdosed on PCP, wound up in Hell a filly and has a billboard in every red light district in Hell? ...No, don’t remember him.”_

He sighed—he didn’t know if that meant his father was pretending he didn’t exist or if this was an attempt at humor, because neither he or his father were really good at humor. “Yeah... I know you hate ‘im, Pops, but...” He’s been tearing a napkin to shreds with a another pair of his hands, tiny white pieces of paper on the table around him. “...Get this—this filly’s been workin’ for Valentino? He signed a contract at some point, I think before we even ended up down here. He’s been stayin’ at this hotel—“

” _That one ran by Magne? The one for redemption?”_

Maybe his father knew more about his brother then he let on? He was pretty sure he had cut all ties possible with him, probably for the best because at this point, Anthony’s behavior would have given him a brain aneurysm, and he’d be double dead, but at least it was a bit less to explain. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

 _”Don’t believe that shit, it’s a pipe dream—you better not be stayin’ there, I’d prefer you in a crowbar hotel than that place, probably run by religious zealots and shit.”_ If there was people his father didn’t trust, it was people too religious, right up there with politicians, vegans, and French people for some reason. He said the really religious folks were always the ones hiding something.

”Yeah, I don’t think he does either, but I guess some shit went down, and Valentino’s a fuckin’ prick, and... Fuck, I don’t know how to say this. Uh...” He didn’t want to say it—saying it aloud meant it was really happening, that his younger brother was really...

...He accepted it enough to do something about it, maybe. But he wanted as little to do with this, as little to do with Anthony, Angel Dust, whatever, as possible. 

His father sighed. “ _Weren’t we talkin’ about your...”_ Brother. He had been about to call Anthony his brother again. _“Weren’t we talkin’ about Anthony? Didn’t you decide you were done talkin’ about him?”_

No, but his father had. And most of what his father decided, his mother went along with, and he guessed it had been assumed he’d go along with it too. His father wouldn’t _disown_ him for a relationship with his brother, but he’d get a lot of shit for it.

Plus, he... he didn’t want a relationship with Anthony.

”I never said the two of us were in contact,” he responded. “But that dumbass...” He sighed. “...You remember... when we first found out he was...” _Ugh._ He couldn’t say it, there was no way he could say it. “...what he was?”

” _Queer?_ ”

”No,” he said. “I meant... his _job_. And we assumed he didn’t... _actually_ want his... _job_.” He did not want to think about his brother’s job. Anthony’d call him a prude, but he just didn’t want to think about his little brother _having sex_ _on TV._ **With nineteen men.** (Jesus fuck, that had scarred him for the rest of his afterlife!)

There had been rumors about Valentino, if you stuck around long enough to hear them—all sorts of things about him were off. He wore boots that looked they belonged to a woman. He dressed like a stereotypical pimp. He was in this messy, on again-off again relationship that was clearly connected to the fact that Vox’s screen was just about always broken, and Arackniss had never held a penchant for wife beaters (and even though the very idea of one was stupid, he didn’t have a penchant for husband beaters, or on-again-off-again boyfriend beaters.)—it had all given him a solid distaste for Valentino, so he’d jump for a good reason to hate him.

And if that pimp was hurting his brother, he’d do something about it.

” _But he did_ ,” his father said.

”...At the time,” he told him.

” _The fuck does that mean?_ ”

”It means that bastard signed a contract when he was drunk, and his boss has been takin’ advantage of him,” he said. “...Or maybe he wasn’t at first and started at some point? ...I’m... hearin’ a lot of things I don’t wanna hear. But uh, he was at this hotel.” He had friends Arackniss didn’t know about. He had a pig. He had been five months clean or something. “...And I was told he was trying to get clean, but his boss... mighta done something, because he left to the studio, with little warning... and no one’s heard from him in over a week.”

He sighed again. _“I told you,”_ he said. “ _I told you, you shoulda just let it go.”_

”I know—“

_”I think if you did know, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, Arackniss—if he didn’t want your help then, he won’t want it now. Ya been talkin’ with him for how long?”_

”Not at all for a few decades,” he said.

 _“Don’t change that,_ ” he told him—his voice was stern. He got the feeling his father wasn’t completely _there,_ probably half focused on shit he needed to do today, he didn’t need his youngest son to fuck with him. “ _Just let him go—when he wants to come back home and be your brother again, he’ll start acting like it, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s not acting like your brother. ...He’s not gonna change his mind, Arackniss. You know that—and what happens when we do help him? You think your brother will stick to the straight and narrow, stay out of trouble for good? He’s got, at most, an eternity down here, plenty o’ time to piss someone he shouldn’t off, and this family can’t drop everything to rescue him—you know that.”_

He was gonna hate himself for this. He was going to do it, and he was going to hate every last second of it. “You know you can’t stop me from goin’ after him anyway.”

There was a long moment of silence. Arackniss found himself gripping the table he was at. “... _I do,_ ” his father said. “... _I do know that.”_

”Glad we’re on the same page,” he said before he hung up. He rubbed at his temples—that son of a bitch.

Charlie stepped closer. “So...” She started, hands clasped in front of her. “...How’d it go?”

”Well,” he started. “My father’s convinced Anthony’s a dumbass and is gonna just find more trouble after this to get into, he thinks we should forget about him and let him deal with his problems on his own—but I don’t blame him, it’s been decades.” Fuck, he needed a cigarette. “...But I didn’t change my mind.”

Charlie smiled. “I’m glad at least one member of his family cares. At least, a little bit.”

Arackniss shrugged. “He’s a stupid fucker—but I guess he’s still my brother, and I can just fuckin’ _hear_ Miele losin’ her shit, knowin’ I didn’t help him.”

She tilted her head. “...Miele?”

”Anthony’s sister— _our_ sister.” He paused. “...Has he never mentioned her? If that fucker forgot about Molls, I’ll break into his fuckin’ porn studio and fuck up his other eye.”

”No, no,” Charlie said. “He’s... He’s mentioned her—he, uh, doesn’t talk much about family, but he’s mentioned her!”

”Girl was a fuckin’ sweetheart,” he said. “...She never forgave our father for kickin’ Tony out.”

”You did?” She asked.

”...Couldn’t blame him,” he said, after a long pause. “...Any chance you broads can set my brother straight with your whole redemption schtick?”

Charlie pursed her lips briefly, like she was thinking, and then cooly responded, “No, I don’t think that’s possible.”

”Didn’t they have a thing where they turned a whole bunch of gays straight?”

”It doesn’t work that way,” Charlie told him. “Just like gay people can’t turn straight people gay—they turn back. It’s not something that can be fixed—and it isn’t a problem, really.”

There was a lot of things he could say—but he didn’t want to get into this. Talking about it was just... weird. He didn’t want to. He had dealt with it enough in life, right before Anthony died, and it hadn’t been pleasant—he was still kind of trying to make sense out of his brother’s... tastes. He settled with a simple, hesitant, ”...Agree to disagree.” He avoided Charlie’s gaze. “Either way, I don’t think I can get my Pops to change his mind—he got in a shouting match with Anthony right before he kicked him out, right before he overdosed, and he thought Anthony was gonna apologize. ...The people in my family, we... got a tendency to hold grudges, we ain’t really the forgivin’ type.”

”So, you and your family are just... never going to speak to him again?”

”Not if we can help it, no.” His phone started ringing—for a minute, he thought for sure it was... someone else, someone he refused to think of out in public, and who had nothing to do with any of this, but it was his father, calling again. “Hold on a sec’.”

He didn’t say anything when Arackniss picked up so he just kind of sat there for a minute before asking, “What is it?”

“... _Gimme the run down again.”_ A beat. _“Of_ _what happened with Anthony.”_


	4. Chapter 4

“Okay,” Arackniss started, chin in his hand like he was completely _bored_ by the conversation topic, but Charlie had the feeling that that was just his face, and other than scowling, snarling, and frowning, it just stayed rather blank—it seemed rude to judge, she supposed not everyone could have a super expressive face. “So, uh, if my father somehow comes around on all this and offers to help, what exactly’s the plan?”

Charlie sat down beside Vaggie to hold her hand—she had heard everything Arackniss had said earlier, and he probably had yet to realize that Charlie and her were queer, and was showing remarkable restraint, and she really appreciated it. “...We didn’t think that far ahead.”

There was a brief pause. Nearby, Husk was—naturally—chugging a bottle of liquor and slicing open a lime, carving it into pieces before removing the peel and subtly throwing the pieces halfway across the room so Fat Nuggets could eat them while he got pets from Cherri and Niffty (who... had been previously talking about Jack the Ripper for some reason?) on the floor. “...Whaddya mean you didn’t think that far ahead?” Arackniss asked.

Charlie blinked, but the only explanation she could give was, “I mean we didn’t think that far ahead.”

Arackniss’ face was still blank, but she knew by the tone he used that he was really annoyed. “You’re serious.” It was not a question.

”...Yeah,” Charlie said. “In our defense, we didn’t quite know what to do at first—it took a week of radio silence for us to decide that something was wrong and we had to do something to help Angel.” She might have put a bit more emphasis on ‘Angel’ than necessary, like she was trying to get Arackniss to use his preferred name. “And that’s only really because we learned that he won’t even contact Cherri and that she was looking for him.”

”He’s been leaving me on read,” Cherri said. Fat Nuggets snorted, like he knew who they were talking about.

”Maybe he just doesn’t wanna speak with you,” he said.

”He wouldn’t do that, asshole,” Cherri told him, sniffed and leaned back on her arms—Fat Nuggets jumped into her lap, Niffty didn’t stop petting him. “He’d at least _tell me_ to quit texting him or something—he’s not the type to leave someone on read, if he doesn’t wanna talk, he’ll tell whoever’s bothering him to fuck off.”

Arackniss shrugged. “Still possible,” he responded, like it wasn’t more likely that something bad was happening. “The fuck pissed off Valentino enough to make him decide to move Anthony back in the studio, though? He’s been stayin’ at the hotel for over a year, so he must’ve known ‘bout it, right? What’d he do?”

”I don’t know,” Charlie said. “He’s been staying out of trouble, as far as I know.”

Cherri grimaced. “He hasn’t had the energy to really get into trouble—it... takes a lot more effort than it looks to quit using. But he was really trying.”

Charlie turned to look at her. “You know?”

“Know what?”

”...Valentino said he was still using,” Charlie said. “He um... claimed Angel never stopped, but I don’t believe that, but he said the first thing he did was get some drugs.”

Cherri’s face hardened. “Valentino is a lying rat bastard. If Angel _said_ he wasn’t using, _he wasn’t using._ He was serious about getting clean—don’t believe a word that pimp tells you.”

”Okay,” Charlie said—she felt stupid for doubting Angel Dust. He had come so far—he wouldn’t bend that quickly, probably. ...And even if he did relapse, she’d help him try again. And again. And again. It wasn’t a problem. “...Um, anyway—I don’t think he has done anything.”

”C’mon, there’s gotta be something,” Arackniss said. He looked at Cherri. “Didn’t you hang out a whole lot with him? Was there anything he did that woulda made Valentino flip his shit?”

For a minute, she didn’t move. Then the color drained from her face and she went absolutely rigid. “...There might be,” she said. “... _Shit._ ”

That probably wasn’t a good sign. Arackniss looked unfazed, but Charlie was sure her own expression was probably concerned, because she felt really concerned. “What?” She asked.

”Angel...” She trailed off for a moment. “...Angel had a rough day at work, at some point. Like, really rough. And I knew he was upset, so I stopped by his apartment to comfort him—Valentino... did a thing. And after being initially... upset, he was angry, and we got really drunk, and... We started talking, just throughout the whole night, and he... He was miserable. He wanted to do something... bad, and I suggested an alternative, and we both agreed that the alternative was a much better idea than... his.”

She did not like where this was heading. “What was the alternative thing you did?”

”We blew up one of Valentino’s clubs.”

“Oh, _shit,_ ” Charlie said, aloud. Vaggie was grimacing. Arackniss looked dumbfounded.

”You blew up one of his clubs,” he said. “... _F_ _ottimi_. Please tell me there wasn’t any security cameras. Did anyone see you?”

”We didn’t think so,” Cherri said. “And I mean—it was years ago. According to Angel, it drove Valentino up the wall trying to figure out who did it, we thought for sure, if he figured out it was us, we’d fucking know—but I can’t think of anything else...”

”Oh my _fuck,_ you blew up an Overlord’s club— _and got away with it for how long_?”

”A _while,_ ” Cherri said. “Which, like, would be an accomplishment, but the more I think about it, the more I’m freaking myself out, thinking that that was definitely it— _shit,_ is that why he’s not texting me? Does he even have his phone!” She pulled out her phone again, like that would help.

”You said he’d been leaving you on read, right?” Charlie said.

”Doesn’t mean that it was _him_ ,” Cherri said. “Or maybe he’s trying to protect me or some shit? Oh, _fuck,_ Angel...”

There was a tense moment of silence. “So,” Charlie said. “...Angel’s told you about him, do you think that’s a thing he’d do... something like this over?”

”Fuck yeah, it is,” Cherri said. “That motherfucker would beat Angel black and blue for _most_ things he does if he didn’t have to worry about how he looked on camera.” Arackniss grimaced—because his brother was being beaten, or the reference to his brother’s job? It was difficult to tell. “Valentino has a... _really_ short temper, and he’s not afraid to take it out on his employees.”

Arackniss blinked—all eight of his eyes, slow and long. “...Do I want to know how he takes it out on my brother?” He took Cherri’s silence as a firm _No._ “Great. _Momento del crimine_ , let’s blow up his fuckin’ studio.”

”That’s not gonna work for many reasons,” Charlie said.

”I hate to agree with this short, homophobic fucker—“ Cherri started.

”Did you need to add short to that sentence—“

”—but yeah, I think we should blow up his fucking studio.”

At that exact moment, Alastor seemed to think now was a good time to chime in from his spot at the bar where he’d been quietly sipping cognac for a long while—it was weird how used to the sound of static Charlie had gotten, how used to his presence she was. _“That’s a poor choice,”_ he said. _“Destroying the studio won’t help Angel—he’ll still be on a contract, and that could be the least of his worries, assuming we get away with destroying the studio, because he—and thousands of other sex workers in the studio—will be horribly maimed, and there’s no telling that Valentino wouldn’t take it out on Angel, who’d still be under contract, if he found out friends of his attempted some violent, half-baked rescue.”_ Okay, he had a point. He took another sip of his drink. _“And if we were to go the violence option, I would have been more than happy to offer my help when buying out his contract didn’t work.”_

”Right,” Charlie said. “We did ask you to do that... thing you did to the snake guy who broke into the hotel to try and kill Angel Dust.”

”Wait.” Arackniss was frowning again. “Is that why Pentious’ airship was torn to shreds?”

Charlie looked at him. “You know him?”

”...No.” His expression was so cool and his voice was so toneless, she almost believed the blatant lie.

Almost slyly, Cherri said, “Your texts beg to differ.”

He slammed at least four of his hands onto the table and rose like he was ready to launch himself at her and tackle her to the ground. _“Ti strapperò come una busta!”_

”Envelopes are hard to open,” Husk said—Charlie had no idea what that had to do with anything.

”Okay,” Charlie said. “So, as great as blowing up the studio would be, we can’t do that—but uh... We’ll file destruction under Plan B.”

”And you said buyin’ his contract out didn’t work?” Arackniss asked.

”He wouldn’t let me,” she responded.

”...So, we got Plan B—and no Plan A,” he said.

”Yes, pretty much.”

”...Anthony’s _fucked,”_ Arackniss said. “...Jesus fuck, I need a drink—hey, barkeep, you got any cheap liquor back there?”

” _Only_ cheap liquor,” Husk said, already working on pouring a glass. “I only make old fashioneds—here.”

Cherri sighed. “Maybe we can talk to him and trade one spider for another—Arackniss, any chance you like dick?”

”Fuck off,” he said.

She shrugged. ”Wasn’t really a _no._ ”

”We’re not doing that,” Charlie said—Cherri might have been joking, but just to be safe, she figured it was worth saying, so they were all on the same page. “...I’m...I’m at a total loss of what to do.”

On the floor, Niffty frowned. “...Both?” She suggested.

Vaggie glanced at her and grabbed Charlie’s hand. “They’re... two very different ideas, Niffty—and forcing Arackniss into this would be wrong, even if he’s kind of a prick.”

”The fuck I ever do to you?” He asked.

”What? No.” Niffty rocked back onto her heels and went to her full height—which, you know, wasn’t very much. “I meant the buying his contract and destroying the studio. The two ideas really go hand in hand, I think—maybe I just write too much fanfiction, or... maybe I _read_ too much fanfiction, and maybe I’m just not really grounded in reality anymore, or spend too much time with Alastor to the point where he’s really greyed my morality and all, but, couldn’t you just threaten him? And make a deal with him?”

“Oh my fuck,” Cherri said and looked at her. “I love you. Violence has to be the answer.”

”...Wait, did I actually have a good idea?” She looked up at Alastor, like he was going to confirm this was the best idea they had managed to think of.

He chuckled. _“My dear,_ ” he started, his grin so wide it seemed to carve into his cheekbones, reach parts of his face the corners of one’s mouth shouldn’t reach. “ _Your hobby has paid off.”_

”Oh, wow, really? I’m pretty sure I got the idea of threatening someone from a fanfiction.”

“Wait,” Vaggie said. “How are we gonna threaten him?”

”Threaten to blow up the studio,” Husk suggested, slouched at the bar, looking at Vaggie like she was being exceptionally slow today. “That studio’s worth a fucking fortune. But he wouldn’t take you seriously right away, so you’d probably need to blow up a floor first—to make it obvious you’re serious.” Alastor turned to look at him. “...What? I read Niffty’s fanfiction, that’s not a fucking crime. I’m allowed to have hobbies, Alastor.”

”...I’m not firmly against blowing up his studio, obviously,” Arackniss said. “But how the fuck do we pull that off? We can’t just waltz in and set the place ablaze or whatever.”

Charlie chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe we can find a way to distract Valentino, at least?”

”How the fuck do we do that?” Arackniss asked.

This was one of those times where Angel’s help would be much appreciated—Charlie didn’t think he was the _helpful type,_ but he knew Valentino better than they really did, and he had a tendency to distract demons, anyways, but the whole reason they were _doing this_ was to help Angel Dust.

Vaggie groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I have an idea,” she said. “And I hate it.”

Charlie looked at her. “Vaggie, there is no bad ideas right now—like, literally none, because we’re grasping at straws.”

”Yeah, but I still hate it.”

”This was a bad idea,” Arackniss said, out on the street, smoking his ninth cigarette today. “I can’t believe I fuckin’ agreed to do this for Anthony.”

”You’re a good older brother,” Charlie said.

”No,” Arackniss said. “I’m not.” He sighed. “I’m really, really not.”

”Oh.” They stood there awkwardly on the streets—they were weirdly empty today, though she couldn’t tell why, and very much hoped there wasn’t really a reason. “...I guess I wouldn’t really know, I’m an only child.”

 _“Fortunato,_ ” he muttered beneath his breath.

”Not really,” Charlie said, though she wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. “Kind of lonely, to be honest.”

”Havin’ siblings is also lonely,” Arackniss said. “Least if they’re twins. Anthony and Miele always had each other—I was a glorified babysitter for when our parents went out on dates.”

”Oh,” Charlie said. “How much older than Angel are you?”

He took one last drag off his cigarette. “I was seven when him and Molls were born—was in the room and _everything._ ...It was horrifying.”

”Really?”

”It was mostly a whole lotta screaming,” he said. “And my Ma fainted like, nine times. I mean, kinda understandable, since she was givin’ birth and all, but still. The two of them couldn’t be any closer constantly, without bein’ conjoined, but thank God they weren’t, that would have been creepy as fuck.” He ground it out on the sidewalk and threw it in a nearby trash can from where he stood. “...Miele took his death pretty hard.”

”I don’t blame her,” Charlie said. “Angel doesn’t talk much about his family, but he’s always sounded fond of her, when he’s talked about her.” They were quiet for a moment. “...How did... _you_ take his death?”

Arackniss scoffed, quietly. “Does it fuckin’ matter? He died—no one coulda done anything. I—If I had known better, I wouldn’t o’ fuckin’ let our father throw him outta the house, if I knew he was just gonna overdose and be found in an alley somewhere, probably fuckin’ brain dead. If I had believed in that sorta shit when I was alive, I woulda summoned a demon or something and sold my fuckin’ soul to wake him the fuck up, if only to get Molly happy again. If I had known that-that that _figlio di puttana_ was gonna shoot him, I wouldn’t have left his fuckin’ side.

”But I didn’t. I didn’t fuckin’ know he was too stupid or too suicidal to realize his fuckin’ limits, I didn’t know about Hell or demons, I didn’t know... I _should have known..._ ” His words ground to a halt and he started back up all over again. “It doesn’t fuckin’ matter, alright? People die. People die all the fuckin’ time, and with our family business, death wasn’t a fuckin’ rarity—and it doesn’t matter if you’re okay with it, if you can _cope,_ or if whoever died was too young or close to you or _whatever,_ because it didn’t fuckin’ matter.

”And even if it did matter, my life was better with him outta it anyway.”

It was harsh. It straddled the line between _harsh_ and _cruel_ , and as Arackniss turned away from her, crossing two pairs of his arms, it teetered and fell directly into _cruel_ territory. Apparently realizing her horror, he added, “Like I said. I’m not a good older brother.”

”Holy shit,” she said.

They went silent again—Arackniss looked at the time on his phone. “We came here too early, we still got about ten minutes before he’ll show. He doesn’t show up early.” He glanced at her again. “What’s up with you and that one broad, Vaggie? And what the fuck’s with her name?”

“Oh.” She rocked back on her heels, idly. “Her name was Vagatha, but she thought it sounded like an old lady’s name, and it’s not really that much better then Vaggie anyway—her and I’ve known each other for awhile, she’s my best friend.” She paused and then added. “We’ve been dating since twenty sixteen.”

Arackniss paused, suddenly. “Oh. So, all that stuff I said about...?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “It was really offensive.”

”Shit,” he said. “My bad.”

”Do you feel... guilty now?” She pressed. “Now that you know I’m queer?”

”For saying all that shit back there? ...A bit, I guess—but like. Not unreasonably.”

Charlie nodded—they went back to silence. “What about the rest of your family?” She asked.

”Jesus Christ, are you writin’ a book or somethin’?” He asked. “Why do you care so much about Anthony’s death?”

”Because I care about Angel Dust,” she said simply.

Arackniss blinked. “...I’ll tell you about my family,” he said. “If you tell about _yours._ ”

Charlie blinked. “...There’s a... disturbing lack of things to really say about my family. I’m over centuries old, I’ve lived in Hell my whole life. My parents are madly in love—and I think they love me, but uh... ruling over Hell’s very... busy, and they can’t always take the time out of their day to spend time with me. You know how it is.”

Arackniss shrugged. “I bonded with my old man over my first kill—that’s normal for me, for my family.”

”I’m not sure if I ever really bonded with my father,” Charlie said. “We did normal family things, sometimes, but it always kind of felt like there was something stopping me from ever connecting the way I thought I should with my parents—they never quite understood me. ...They were pretty cool with me being bisexual, though, and my mom’s never minded the fact that I choose suits over dresses, and my father brought a pair of stuffed animals from when I was kid to life so they could always protect me—but all in all, my childhood felt kind of... isolating. In a way I can’t quite describe. And when I got older and cared about the betterment of Hell and the quality of life for my subjects, the more I realized... how isolated I really was. They only really _tolerate_ it all.”

”Damn,” he said. “...My father was hard on Tony. We all were. ...I don’t like saying it, but learning he was gay wasn’t the surprise it should have been.”

“What do you mean?”

”I caught him,” he said. “...In an alley, with a man at least twice his age—foreign too, he had a weird fuckin’ accent. We locked eyes. I froze. He shoved the man away and I kept walkin’ home, and right on the porch, he caught up to me and begged me not to tell the rest of the family, and our father overheard and...” He cleared his throat. “...Didn’t really occur to me to tell anyone until he brought it up. He was fucking panicking, but I had never felt calmer.”

”Fuck,” Charlie said. “That’s horrible.”

”I’m not proud of it,” Arackniss said.

”You shouldn’t be,” Charlie told him. “...I don’t like the way you or your family’s treated Angel Dust. You won’t even use his name.”

”Anthony _is_ his name,” he insisted.

”No,” Charlie said. “He prefers Angel Dust. And he prefers men to women and he likes miniskirts and kinky boots. I’m glad you care enough to help him, and I’m not sure if it’s like, a sibling’s thing or what, but you also sound ready to murder him? It’s... not right.”

”You don’t _get it,_ ” he said. “Anthony’s...” He trailed off.

”...I feel like you care a lot more about him then you want to,” Charlie said. “I mean—you wouldn’t _really_ be helping us if you wanted him dead. You wouldn’t have ended up at the hotel if you hadn’t been looking for him, you wouldn’t be looking for him if you didn’t care at least a _little_ bit—I just don’t know why you have to act like the two of you are sworn enemies, like he’s out to get you, like you _can’t_ care about him.”

Arackniss froze and looked at her. “... _Cazzo di inferno,_ ” he said. “...You sound like Molly—no wonder that jackass’ been stayin’ at your hotel, he must have a soft spot for you.”

Charlie shrugged. “Maybe? I care about him, and his wellbeing—he’s a nice guy. When you get to know him.”

”Yeah, but he’s really _not_.” He glanced around. “Stop talkin’, my father’s comin’ this way.”

Somehow, he looked exactly the way Charlie imagined, in that he was large, tall, had a kind of cool looking hat, and looked about as miserable as Arackniss. Maybe all of Angel’s family looked miserable? “...I already feel like I’m gonna regret talkin’ about this, Arackniss.”

Charlie looked him up and down. “So, you’re Henroin?” She asked, and smiled as politely as she could. “I’ve heard _so_ much about you.”

Cherri looked over her text messages again and froze—her most recent text message had been a simple, _I’m worried, please text me when you read this_ , because sometimes, you had to just be blunt and to the point about these things. Maybe it was just the fact that he was going quiet, the fact that even his brother was a little worried about him, or that she couldn’t stop thinking about that one night...

...Thinking about it made her head hurt, her heart throb—Angel was her best friend. He could make her smile until her face hurt. He was funny, intelligent, and awesome to be around, but that night, he had hit a low Cherri had never been able to fathom before. He had been quiet. Cherri had never seen him cry, not unless they were both in tears laughing about something stupid until they couldn’t breathe, but Angel had sobbed for hours and Cherri hadn’t been sure how to comfort him, and she had tried, she had _really_ tried to make him feel better, to make sure he knew she was there, and the entire time, she had felt like she was just falling short, she would have carved her only eye straight out of her skull just to make Angel stop crying.

She froze when she looked at her phone, stiff as a board. “He’s typing,” she said aloud.

”Huh?” Husk asked. He was casually dropping cherries for Fat Nuggets—this man had a soft spot for this pig, but who wouldn’t?—and looked up at her.

”Angel,” she said. “Look—“ She showed him her screen, the small bubble on the left hand side with three moving dots, he was finally going to respond.

Husk looked—for one tense moment, Cherri held her breath, waited for her phone to vibrate and for Angel to say something, _anything,_ even if it was just _You’re spamming my inbox, Sugartits._

And just like that, the bubble disappeared. A beat—but there was no text message. “...You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” She jinxed it—he wasn’t responding. She didn’t even know if he actually had his phone right now—but she really hoped he did. A thousand possibilities ran through her mind, but none of them were good.

 _Angie, I’m trying to not blow up your phone with a zillion variations of the same text, but I know you’re getting these, you’re reading them, and I know you almost responded._ He read it—and didn’t respond. Cherri put her phone down, screen facing the bar counter and buried her face in her hands. “Damnit.”

_Her room looked weirdly empty as he stepped in, lingered near the doorway to see if she was awake yet, but she didn’t move. She must have been really upset. “Miele?” He said, softly—she might have been asleep, but then she might have been sleeping for about fourteen hours at this point._

_...She was upset, obviously. He got that—but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that. Should he do something? She might have wanted to be alone, but maybe someone needed to comfort her?_

_...It sounded like Anthony’s job, but he wasn’t here—and if he was here, he suspected his younger sister wouldn’t be nearly as upset. “...Are you up?” He asked—but she didn’t respond._

_He sighed—he was gonna have to do something, say something, right? He took another step into his sister’s room._

_Molly laid on her side, facing the wall by her bed, legs stretched out and only half covered by a faded, cream colored blanket. “...Are you ignorin’ me right now?” He asked, but she still didn’t say anything. “...Alright, fine, you don’t have to talk to me. ...I know you’re really mad right now, but you know it’s been three years, right? It’s... It’s a good thing Ma isn’t so broken up ‘bout it.” Really—if it was him or Miele, she’d sob until dehydration came for her, but with Tony... He guessed she was still disgusted. She had cried during his funeral, and that had been about it. “...Molls, he’s... He’s dead, we can’t do anything ‘bout it. Gettin’ mad at Ma ain’t gonna help him.”_

_The room was so silent. He sat on the edge of her bed and sighed. “I know you miss him, Mie, but...” He squeezed his fingers around the edge of her mattress and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket—smoking in her room usually pissed her off, it’d be enough to get a reaction, and then she’d be done ignoring him, but... that wouldn’t really be helping him._

_”...Look, Molly, I...” He sighed. “...I don’t wanna say it, y’know? I hate to admit it, but... I kinda miss him too. God, he was such a... such a....” What was that word in English? He was drawing a blank. “..._ cagna _sometimes. ...Most o’ the time. ...All the time. But..._ Dio, _it’s not the same without him.” He sighed—saying it hurt. He didn’t want to miss his brother. “...Miele, come on, say somethin’. You’re being stupid ‘bout this, just... talk to me. ..._ Per l'amor di Dio, _say something.”_

_Was she asleep? ...Probably for the best, he wasn’t sure if he actually wanted anyone to hear him say that—it was bad enough when their parents sometimes fought in the kitchen, quiet but obviously disagreeing about their son, constantly changing their minds on whether or not he was actually their son... It was hell. “Is this even ‘bout Ma?” He asked. “...Are you still mad at Pops? ...You’ve been pretty frosty to me since I told you ‘bout Cecilia—I don’t even know what you’re mad about. ...Can you just... talk to me—“_

_He reached out to grab her bicep, to shake her, to get some sort of reaction out of her—but her skin was cool to the touch._

_His heart skipped a beat—and then promptly slammed into his stomach. “...Molls?” He croaked out._

_He turned her, on her back, so she was facing the ceiling. Her eyes were shut, face slack with sleep—but she didn’t respond at all to being manhandled onto her back, her skin lacked warmth, and the more he looked, the more he realized—she never slept in this late, even when she was mad, she would have sat up and told him to get out at least, her chest didn’t rise with her breathing, she wasn’t breathing, she wasn’t—_

“—alright?”

His mind finally processed that Charlie was talking to him and he forced himself to nod. “‘M fine.” He forced thoughts of Molly out of his head and continued walking, trying to match his strides with her’s, so he didn’t fall behind (why the fuck was everyone else’s legs so much longer than his?) “Fuck were we talkin’ ‘bout?”

A car raced by on the street, faster than a bullet, and only a few feet away. Charlie blinked down at him. “...I said that it could have gone better? The... conversation with Henroin.”

Right. That. He shrugged, simply. “Coulda gone way worse,” he said, simply, following Charlie’s steps down the street, back to the hotel. “He agreed to help us, didn’t he?”

...Us. He was a part of this. He was actually helping—and worse, his father was helping. ...Not directly, but just allowing him to do it, giving him the guns, and offering to send a few... friends of the family was basically Henroin supporting the decision. He wasn’t happy about it, but this... This was good.

”Didn’t seem too worried about Angel,” Charlie said, tone dry.

“How worried can we be?” Arackniss asked. “We’re in the mafia, safety’s a luxury—if you don’t get used to it, you’ll give yourself a heart attack every time you hear a gunshot, and that’ll kill you ‘fore the gunshot.”

Charlie nodded, like she was filing away this information for later. “I’m gonna be honest—the whole plan we came up with? I’ve never done anything like it before.”

He thought for a moment—it was probably a bit harder than taking a shotgun to someone’s knees, maybe more like, setting a building on fire (honestly, his family’s deaths’ might have been some form of karma), but instead of setting it on fire, they were blowing up at least one floor. ...Maybe not quite the right amount of damage he kind of wanted to cause to get some sort of revenge for what Valentino had been doing to his brother, but revenge of a sort probably didn’t matter in the long run so long as Anthony was okay.

...He didn’t want to want Anthony to be okay. “Can’t be too difficult,” he said. “He’s an overgrown insect in a snazzy coat, that’s it.”

”You aren’t even a little bit worried?” Charlie pressed, as the hotel came into view. “I mean, maybe you think he’s an overgrown insect, but then, what are you?”

”A four foot spider,” he said. “With guns. Six. Six guns.” 

The lobby of the hotel was warm, Husk, Niffty and Cherri all turned towards Alastor with his cane, standing near the bar counter, apparently wrapping up some monologue he had been on, _“—And those are the issues with modern musicals.”_ Niffty nodded solemnly, as if this was a grim, serious topic, Fat Nuggets was gnawing on a whole lime he had stolen when Husk wasn’t looking only to run to the doors when they arrived to show it off, and Vaggie was seated at the bar, facing them like she was asking her girlfriend with her eyes to never leave her alone like this again.

Fat Nuggets snorted and sat down to stare up at Arackniss, so he was careful to avoid eye contact, because that’d encourage him—he _fully_ expected to get into at least one fist fight with Anthony when he saw him, and since Arackniss refused to lose a fistfight with a man in thigh high boots, it felt cruel to let the pig get attached when he’d definitely never see him again.

Charlie stooped down to pet the pig gently, apparently realizing he wasn’t going to. “Don’t worry, Nuggs,” she cooed. “We’re gonna get your Mama back, okay?”

It was his own damn fault, but it still sucked he couldn’t stop thinking about church.

He didn’t want to think about church—Angel had found church boring, and once a week was too often, and church had been so _boring,_ and even as a pair of his hands curled around the edge of the chair he was, the other pair around the arms of the chair, he could remember clear as day, sitting in the pews at church and thinking of anything that wasn’t church, and now, squirming beneath Valentino’s gaze, hating himself and everything about his situation, all he could think about was church.

...He fucking hated church.

”Angel Cakes,” Valentino said, reached over to cup his chin—gentle. For now. “Are you listening to me?”

No. He did not want to. “Yes, Mista Valentino,” he lied.

”Good boy.” He squeezed—still gentle. Maybe he knew Angel was lying—difficult to tell most of the time what he wanted, and what he knew. “You know you’re gonna lose money if you bleed all over your clients, don’t you, baby?”

Because he intentionally did that? He bit his tongue until he tasted blood. “I’m... sorry, Val.”

”’Sorry’ doesn’t get back that client, Angie. What about I book you for a gangbang, baby cakes? One rough enough so blood doesn’t look out of place?” He tried not to shiver, because movement was just going to make Valentino tighten his hold on him, and he’d prefer to get out of Valentino’s office before he felt his touch for too long, and he needed more drugs to wash the taste of his cigar smoke from his mouth, and had to grapple with how badly he fucking _needed_ drugs and how he _shouldn’t,_ how he _wouldn’t_ have if not for his sadistic, rat bastard of a pimp.

...And he couldn’t say no. He wanted to curl up in bed, beneath a. Thousand blankets for at least a few decades—but that’d just be adding more decades back into his contract. “ _Angel._ ”

He forced himself to nod. “ _Very_ good,” Val told him—for some reason, he thought, for sure, Valentino was going to hit him, but he only sat back. “Poor thing—you’re still shaky. Do you need a few more lines, baby?”

He needed them, like fish needed water, like people needed air—in that exact moment, PCP was the most essential thing to his survival and he still wanted to turn it down.

But you didn’t say no to Valentino.

She smoothed Vaggie’s hair out for her, maybe just wanting to run her fingers through her hair a few times. “Are you gonna be okay?” She asked—she knew she would be, deep down, because she wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her, and Vaggie was tough as nails, really.

”I’ll be fine,” Vaggie told her. “This is part of the plan. It’ll be a distraction, right? ...Not a great distraction, maybe not even a good one, but... we really are grasping at straws here, hun.”

”Feels like just yesterday you and him were ready to murder each other in the car,” she laughed.

Her lips quirked up into a smile—because that news interview felt just like yesterday, Charlie could almost feel her nerves rattling inside her body, and her damp palms, trying to keep herself calm, while Vaggie remained just as nervous, both of them fighting to be confident, because they were going to _crush_ this. “Too bad the window never recovered,” she said.

”You can take any window in a fight.” This was high praise. Vaggie sighed and leaned into her touch for a moment—Niffty was sitting on the floor, giving Fat Nuggets scratches while her and Husk talked with Alastor about fuck knew what. “Are you nervous?”

”...A little,” she admitted. “But I think I can do this. It... won’t take long, do you think?”

”No,” Charlie said, though she wasn’t sure, but they had thought it out some. “...I won’t let it take too long, but... you won’t... do anything, right? Nothing you shouldn’t? Nothing you don’t want?”

”No,” Vaggie said. She took a shaky breath that rattled in her lungs and out her nose while she cupped her girlfriend’s face—partially because it showed how much she loved Charlie, and because she thought there was something comforting about touching Charlie like this—it was weird, almost, how her face fit in her hands and how smooth her cheeks felt in her palms, but it was somehow kind of... intimate, romantic. “I won’t.”

Charlie fit her arms around Vaggie’s neck and pecked her on the lips, gently. “Just be careful, alright?”

”You be careful,” Vaggie said. “You’re dealing with explosives—you burned your hand once trying to light a candle with a match during a black out.” And then she had just tried again, and again, repeatedly burning her fingertips before Niffty had gone ahead and done it, and in the flickering red light, Vaggie had seen the black on Charlie’s fingertips (and also, Niffty throwing the spent match into her mouth, which was horrifying, but unrelated) and she had worried she was hurt. Throughout all this, she was going to be worried about Charlie doing something much, much worse.

”I think Cherri and Arackniss can handle most of the explosives,” Charlie said—which was a good thing. Vaggie would be horrified if they were to get hurt, really, but if Charlie got exploded, she would be _devastated_.

...But they could manage.

”When I said you could come back to discuss contracts,” Valentino said, holding another cigar in his hand. “I wasn’t really expecting you to actually come back.”

Vaggie kept her hands balled at her sides, rubbed her fingers against the hem of her skirt. “You said I could,” she said. “And you let me come all the way up here and walk into your office and sit across from you—it’d be pretty rude to kick me out.”

He smiled—it was unnerving. “I wasn’t saying I was going to kick you out,” he said. “I was... surprised, is all.” He took a slow, long drag. “You didn’t look to keen to take me up on my offer when you left last time, with your girlfriend. Does she know you’re here?”

”Of course she does,” Vaggie said. “I usually tell her where I’m going—Hell’s a dangerous place.” And she was a relatively small, young woman—maybe young woman of color? She didn’t know, race was weird in Hell, her skin was grey now. She was also, usually, armed, able to fight.

”And how do you think the princess of Hell would take it if her girl toy signed a contract with me?” He asked.

”I told her where I was going,” Vaggie said. “We talked it out—and I figured, you seemed to want a contract with me.” Valentino raised a brow. “...I’m not firmly... against a contract. A small one. If you manage to convince me.”

His smile turned into a grin. “ _Ya veo.”_ Another drag. “Have you ever been in a porno before?”

”No,” she said—just the idea kind of squicked her out. Weren’t all the orgasms faked, didn’t ever performer get tons of plastic surgery done? It was basically just sex, only... fake. A plastic version of sex covered in lights and glamor—that wasn’t for her. “But I was a prostitute, before I wound up in Hell.”

”Were you now?”

”School’s expensive,” she said simply. “And... I worked in a strip club, for a short while.” ...She did not like thinking of that. She knew a lot of her coworkers had liked it, but every time she thought back to it, she just remembered migraines, shame numbed with alcohol, clothes that glittered in lights and left her feeling too bare in front of too many people.

”Interesting,” he said. “Did you do it out of necessity, or did you _like_ it?”

Necessity. But she wasn’t here to tell the truth. “I liked it,” she said. ”...There was parts I didn’t like so much, but I liked it.”

He wasn’t sure if he was believing any of this. “Well,” he said. “You know how contracts work, don’t you, baby?”

“I do.” Her tone came out curt—but not too hostile, at least.

”I need to offer you something,” he said. “Something that evens this contract out, but I don’t know what to offer you. So, tell me what you want, baby.” She was quiet for a moment. “Come on—don’t be shy. With a body like that, I don’t know what you’d have to be shy about, _e_ _res hermosa._ What is it you want?”

She tried to keep her expression amused. “What do people usually want when they come in here?”

”Sometimes it’s just fame—everyone wants a chance in the spotlight, and demons down here go crazy for just about any of my stars. Everyone has their favorites, but for some, it’s the best high they could get. Or maybe they’re just vain, and want to be praised on camera. Some come in here needing drugs, alcohol, a substance to abuse, something to drown out the monotony or liven it up, something to make them feel alive again. And sometimes, skinny, pretty little Salvadoran girls come in here after asking about one of my stars and think I don’t realize that they have no interest in a contract of their own.”

Okay, so he was obviously onto her—distracting people was not her strong suit, she supposed.

A loud noise from the hallway cut through the air, so she started talking immediately, hoping to cover it. “It’s what got me curious,” she said. “But you made it sound like Angel was more than happy with his contract—so, I was wondering what was so good about it. He’s satisfied with his contract, isn’t he?”

”Yes.” It was a blatant lie.

”What’d you offer him?”

”Did he never tell you?” He asked. “You did know him for how long? A year, year and a half?”

”You’ve known him for much longer, haven’t you?” She asked. “Him and I aren’t close, we were just concerned for awhile, but... if he’s using and has no interest in being clean, we don’t want him back at the hotel anymore.”

”What do you think I offered him?” He asked.

”...Probably drugs,” she said. “Definitely drugs. It was drugs, right?”

”It was drugs.”

”Nothing really changes down here, does it?”

”Not unless you force it, baby.” He chuckled. “Be honest here, Vagatha—you don’t look like you’ve ever done a hard drug in your life. Maybe weed, if I’m generous, but that’s nothing. You drink too many wine coolers?”

She shook her head. “Heroin,” she said simply. “...I used to use a lot of heroin.”

He glanced her over. “You’re thin enough for that.” Yeah, she knew, she had noodle arms. “How long were you using, _n_ _iña bonita_?”

”Few years,” she said—and then decided to go ahead and lie, “I died from an overdose. It was a long time coming, to be honest—but once I woke up down here, I decided to try and... stay clean. I didn’t want to die again.”

Valentino nodded. “Overdosing never is very pleasant.” She wasn’t sure if he was speaking from experience, or maybe a lot of OD’d demons wound up under contracts with him. “I imagine it hard to stay clean in Hell, though.”

It was. She had gotten off lucky—she hadn’t had anything when she showed up in Hell, no money or anything, just her stick thin little body and more hair than she remembered having, dragging herself through the streets of Hell—and running. Running. Being chased by those angels...

And then of course, there was the whole Heaven thing—

No. She didn’t want to think about that. But she just made herself shrug, like she hadn’t spent the first couple of days wishing she _could_ double die with how stubborn she was about her no more drugs and no more alcohol, like she hadn’t watched Angel struggle for weeks, relapse, and go on for months, struggling in a way that looked to familiar for her liking. “I guess,” she said.

”So,” Valentino said. “You don’t do drugs. You don’t seem too eager for the job.”

She didn’t know how to sound eager. She was failing miserably—Jesus fuck, she had _one_ job! One job and she was failing miserable, holy fuck. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with _Angel Dust,_ would it?”

”I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

”You don’t need to _lie_ to me, babygirl—I can’t give you what you want if you’re not straight with me.” _Straight._ His word choice almost had a really inappropriate smile spreading over her face, but now was not the goddamn time. “You can tell me; you’re here for his contract, aren’t you?”

”...What gave it away? My girlfriend trying to buy it out?”

He chuckled. “Was that so hard, now? I don’t take _liars_ lightly, Vagatha, even if they’re pretty.” A tendril of pink-red smoke moved, seemed to tilt her chin and force her to make eye contact. “What did he tell you about his contract, babygirl?”

”Not much,” she lied. The contact on her chin moved, trailing to her throat, and she ended up trying to slap it away which really just made her slap her own throat awkwardly—Valentino chuckled, but she told herself to ignore it, because threatening Valentino with her spear right now wasn’t the ideal form of distraction. “I know he agreed to it when he was drunk, high.”

”Do you now?”

”I know he liked his contract, at the start.”

”What about after that?” He asked.

She shrugged. “Hell gets kind of tiring after awhile,” she said. “...Drugs are a temporary relief—I don’t think his contract has anything to do with it, I think he’s just... depressed.”

He hummed—maybe he didn’t believe her. “Tell me, then, sugar—if I was to offer you a contract you would _like_ , what exactly about it would have you signing?” She stayed silent for a short moment, so he kept going. “I’m thinking, if it’s Angel Dust that has you in here, should your contract have something to do with him?”

Vaggie cleared her throat. “What do you mean?”

”I’d be more than willing to make a deal with you, babygirl—tell me how this sounds. For every year _you_ work for me, I knock two years off Angel’s contract.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “What exactly would a year of work look like?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Forty hours a week doing whatever work I can get out of you—you didn’t seem too into porn, but I think you’d look _stunning_ on a pole. You’d get to keep your tips, work at a strip club for as long as you want. Make some cash.”

She bit her lip. “That’s a strangely generous offer.”

”I can be generous when I want to.” He crushed the end of his cigar on an ash tray. “Thing is, I had to let one of my girls go the other day at one of my best clubs, and I need someone to fill in for her on stage.”

”Why’d you let her go?”

”Her contract expired,” he said. “She was one of the best strippers in this ring of Hell, but she wanted to move onto other things—had her for about... thirty nine years? Come on, you know this is one of the best deals you could make with an Overlord.”

Honestly? It was. There was no doubt there was some sort of loophole, something about this deal that put her at a disadvantage, but at first glance, this was a really good deal. All the same, she folded her hands in her lap, pulled at a hangnail. “...No,” she said.

”...No?” He looked her over. “...What exactly is it that you want, babygirl?”

She shifted in her seat—but before she could answer, there was an explosion, somewhere outside the door she had entered through.

”Oh, good,” she said—her voice came out more casual, calmer than she thought it’d be. She almost didn’t think it was her own. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep up this conversation.”

Obviously, that gangbang Valentino had made him do was _rough_ —he would not be surprised if Valentino had told those demons to make _sure_ they broke a few, minor bones, but that didn’t matter. After _that_ , Angel just kind of hoped Val’d go easy on him for the next couple of days, because he was pretty sure he had broken a bone in his left foot, second right hand, and he had probably bruised a rib. Also, he decided, he _hated_ oranges now, with a passion.

Worse than all that, he was itching for... _something._ Whatever that drug Valentino had pricked him with when he was thinking about church, all tied to a bed, just like he had threatened some time ago, a while ago? Time was weird, he had no concept of time.

He had no idea what that drug had been, but whatever it was, Angel _craved_ it. His skin itched, that one spot where the needle went into his skin _burned_ like Valentino had actually stuck a match there, and with every pound of his heart, all he thought about was how badly he needed it, especially now that he was coming down from his high.

Worst part was, he knew Val knew. He saw it in his eyes—he just had Angel hooked on another whole substance. He was never going to be clean. He was going to drown in his debt. He was never going to escape Valentino and all of that somehow managed to pale in comparison to how badly he needed that magical fucking needle buried in his skin again, to let whatever unholy substance in that syringe to take him as far away from his body as it could. 

But if that was gonna happen, he needed to swallow his pride and beg Valentino for it—and it felt like Valentino was a glass of water away from doing something... _bad._ Something Angel Dust would regret.

So he stopped in front of the door to Valentino’s office. He was dizzy, weak, limping—and he wasn’t high enough to do this, but he _could_ be. It was horrible, that he had fallen so quickly into the same old habits he had thought he ridden himself of. ...God, Vaggie and Charlie would be so disappointed in him—and that _almost_ stung as much as his lack of a high, almost made him go back to his room and stare at his phone for a few more hours until he summoned the courage to text Cherri back and apologize for leaving her on read.

...But it didn’t.

Actually, the thing that stopped him from going into Val’s office was the giant black X over the door. The air smelled like a mix of black cherries and gasoline. For a second, he wondered if he was tripping, blinked, rubbed at his eyes, _all_ of them, but it was still there.

And that was what made him go back to his room.

The moment the door shut behind him, he heard something explode, right before his legs decided they didn’t want to hold his weight up anymore.

A lot of things made her confident—Cherri, for one thing, loved her complexion now that she was a demon, and had no acne or scars or stretch marks over her skin, and there was only one thing that made her feel better about herself then showing off as much skin as she could and looking like she was attending a rock concert, and that one thing was explosions.

Nothing put a girl in a better mood than blowing up her best friend’s jackass of a boss’ top floor in his porn studio.

Charlie looked at her concerned, probably because her face was split into a grin that took up more than half of her face and made _Alastor’s_ ever present smile look small in comparison.

Valentino’s office was as unbelievably gaudy as his coat, but frankly, Cherri thought it looked better without the door that she had kicked down when they all poured into his office. Valentino looked at them, and then back at Vaggie, across from in a chair while she rose to her feet and moved towards the group of people. “ _P_ _erra estúpida,”_ he hissed. Whatever it meant, it probably wasn’t nice.

”Hi!” Charlie said, tone friendly like they (okay. _Cherri_ ) didn’t kick the door down, and like they hadn’t made a trail of gasoline through the hallways of the studio, and left all sorts of explosives just about everywhere. “Us again! Can we discuss Angel’s contract again?”

“How the _fuck_ did you get in here?”

She didn’t have to answer the question, but Charlie rubbed the back of her neck and started to explain anyway. “We just kind of waltzed in. Some of your, uh... employees tried to stop us, but Arackniss shot like, three, and Cherri stabbed three, and I accidentally set one on fire, which could have been really bad, considering what we were doing, but anyway, we’d _really_ like to talk about Angel’s contract again.”

Valentino stared her down. “I believe I said I wasn’t going to sell it.” His teeth were gritted—he looked like he was plotting murder. His gaze drifted from Charlie—to Cherri. 

“You don’t have to _sell it,_ ” she said. “I’d be more than happy to _take it from you.”_

”Well, I’m not about to give it to you, sweetheart.” He grinned and looked her up and down, but the minute he looked out into the hallway, past them and it disappeared. “Where the fuck is security? Fucking Hell.”

”Yeah,” Arackniss said. “They’re not comin’.” Valentino looked him over. “You _do_ know what Anthony was a part of in life, right?”

“He sure didn’t make it _sound_ like he was from your crime family,” Valentino said. Arackniss’ face was blank as ever, but Cherri swore, seconds before that first bomb went off, he was smiling. “Actually, he made it sound an awful lot like your family disowned him.”

”How drunk was he when he told you all this?”

”Too sober for his liking.” A muscle in Arackniss’ jaw twitched, but maybe that was Cherri’s imagination. “You should have _seen_ how eager he was to get his stage name, to jump from _Anthony Acciai_ to _Angel Dust.”_

”Yeah,” Arackniss said. “Tony’s a junkie, you wanna say somethin’ I don’t know?” He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. “Anyway, I got a bunch of guys dealin’ with your shitty security right now, I ain’t worried about whatever Hellhound or guard dog you think can scare us away, now _where the fuck is Anthony?_ ”

Valentino looked to be enjoying this a little too much. “He doesn’t go by that anymore.”

”Fuck you!”

Charlie interjected. “Look—Valentino? I didn’t want it to come to this, I really was aiming for a more pacifistic approach to this, but...” She took a deep breath, rocked back on her heels while Arackniss took a long drag from his cigarette. “We want Angel Dust’s contract—so, we were thinking a trade. You give us his contract and let him leave with us, and we won’t blow up your studio. ...At least, not anymore floors in your studio.”

He barked out a laugh. “You think _threatening me_ is going to work?” He asked.

Alastor adjusted his monocle. “ _Yes,_ ” he said. _“We very much believe you’ll fork over a single contract instead of letting us destroy your studio._ ”

”You _do_ know Angel Dust is _in_ the studio, right?”

”Yeah,” Cherri said. “And so are we.”

”The plan was,” Arackniss said, tapping a small piece of ash onto the floor. “We try and convince you to give us his contract, and if you didn’t, we’d leave the top floor, blow up the top floor, grab Anthony and then blow up the rest of the studio.” Cherri also remembered Charlie saying something about the other demons in the studio, but they could recover and regenerate and shit, probably. “So, one way or another, we’re getting Anthony out of here.”

”Just to be clear,” Valentino said. “When you say _Anthony,_ you’re referrin’ to Angel Dust?”

”Yeah,” he responded. “That’s his fuckin’ name, not my fault none o’ you fuckwads can’t get it right.”

Charlie stepped forward. “Again—just his contract. His contract and your studio’s more or less safe and sound—we’ll take our leave, and won’t set the place on fire.”

”...Are you settin’ it on fire or blowing it up?”

Charlie paused. “Yes.” For a moment, they stared at each other. “...Everyone in Hell knows this studio’s costed you millions—if not trillions—it’d... be a shame. If you lost all that money _and_ Angel Dust’s contract.”

”You fuckin’ bitch,” he said.

Alastor took a step forward. “ _That wasn’t much of an answer. Surely, you understand that no matter what, we will be leaving with his contract, with him?”_ His smile didn’t falter for a second—it was creepy, and Cherri wanted to blow up the whole studio with the Overlord inside, and she wanted to get Angel’s help with that, because it’d be cathartic for him. ” _So what will it be?”_

Valentino’s glare turned into a sneer. “I’d like to keep my studio in once piece— _whores_ like Angel Dust come a dime a dozen, I’ll find some other bitch to take his place.”

...Maybe she could come back. With Angel Dust. ...Probably not, but she liked the thought of it.

Alastor cocked his head, grin widening, and offered a hand, Charlie at his side, her arms crossed happily over her chest. _“Do we have a deal then?_ ”

Cherri didn’t know anything about deals or Overlord relations—she just knew Hell was full of people trying to get one over on other people, fighting over shit that rarely mattered, while everyone partied to pretend they were okay. But nothing about Hell was ever okay—it was just that sometimes, there was a handful of people you could come across that could make things feel okay.

And she just wanted one of those people to _be_ okay.

A green glow enveloped the room, wind manifesting in the air like it was trying to hold them back—Charlie stayed where she was, calm and friendly even still, not much more than a foot away from Alastor. As soon as his palm met one of Valentino’s, it was gone, and the air went back to normal, and Alastor’s grin somehow found a way to broaden. “Cool,” she said. “Now where the fuck is he?”

He _had_ been sitting on the edge of his bed. Then he had laid down on his back and crossed both pairs of his arms with his phone resting, screen down, over his chest, and had tried to make up his mind on whether or not he was hallucinating, but at the very, very, very least, he wasn’t thinking about church anymore.

So deep in thought, he didn’t hear the door open, or the footsteps, didn’t process anything that was happening until he felt the mattress dip beneath someone’s weight and a hand on his arm (and briefly, he felt nauseous), and a familiar voice asked, “Angie?”

He blinked—or maybe he had shut his eyes. Beside him, Cherri sat on the bed, eye full of concern, smelling like gasoline and black cherries. He looked at her—and then noticed his brother leaned up against the wall, holding a lit cigarette and watching the two of them, while Vaggie, Alastor and Charlie peered into the room. He decided, right then and there, “Fuck, I’m trippin’.”

Cherri blinked at him and then pulled him into a tight, warm hug, both of her arms wrapping around his middle—and something about it _did_ feel real, and he realized he probably _wasn’t_ tripping, in which case, now everyone knew he wasn’t five months and a week clean anymore.

Cherri hadn’t hugged him like this before—but he did’t think of that. Weakly, he returned it with his two upper arms and managed to find the energy to say, “Hey, Sugartits, your perfume sucks.”

She laughed. “Oh my God, Angel—are you okay?”

...The air felt heavy. Like it was weighing him down. He didn’t want to answer—least, not in front of his brother, and _holy fuck, his brother was in a porn studio._ “What’re you guys doin’ here?” He asked. “Valentino would flip his fuckin’ shit—“

“Let him,” Vaggie said, from the doorway. “It doesn’t matter. We got your contract.”

It took a minute for those words to process—so they just rang in his ears for like, three awkward minutes before he managed a, “Huh?”

Charlie looked at him and showed off a piece of paper with writing he couldn’t make out—even seventy years old, and it still looked fresh, crisp, like it had been made and signed just yesterday. There was his contract, the one that had basically given his soul and free will to Valentino, sitting in her hands.

...He wondered again how people like Charlie got by with just two hands.

The world seemed to spin with this information. “Oh, _fuck,_ ” he said, but that wasn’t even scraping the surface of what he wanted to say. “You’re jokin’. There’s no way.”

”There is,” Charlie said. “You don’t work for Valentino anymore.”

”...Holy shit.” He sat himself up—why was his head pounding? Oh, right—one of those demons from earlier had slammed his head into a metal desk or something. It was difficult to tell, since he had also been blindfolded at the moment. “...Holy shit.”

”Yeah,” Cherri said.

”You can come back to the hotel,” Charlie said. “Assuming you still want to—I don’t know if anything’s changed, but we really would like you back at the hotel.”

Something like shame pooled into his stomach—and not the fun kind either. She knew. She knew he relapsed, and he didn’t know how to say that it wasn’t _his_ fault. He hadn’t _chosen_ , he swore, up and down that he hadn’t wanted to, but how did he say that? It felt... wrong. “...I’d be glad to be back,” he said—like Charlie didn’t have right in her hands something that could make him do whatever she wanted, could make him go to the hotel and act like a fucking saint whether he wanted to or not.

Charlie beamed up at him—but it managed to make him feel worse.

”Are you okay?” Cherri asked while he tried to stand. “...Can you stand?”

”Yeah, just sore,” he said. “...Really fuckin’ sore.”

For a moment, Cherri’s expression darkened. “...Did he hurt you?”

”Obviously,” he said. “...But no. I had a job earlier.”

Arackniss raised a brow. “A job?” He asked. The first thing he said to him.

”Yeah,” he said. “A job.” And then he realized that he was kind of angry and wanted to take it out on something, so he continued, “Y’know, a gig. I got paid to go to some house a couple blocks over and _entertain_ a couple o’ joes. Least nine.” Arackniss looked _disgusted,_ and he felt some terrible glee at seeing the expression. “Yeah, about nine,” he said. “They tied me up and passed me around—one of them was some snake guy, and he had _two_ dicks, it’s a fuckin’ miracle I can fuckin’ walk, I thought they’d break my hips back there.”

Arackniss turned to look at Charlie. “Any chance we can reverse this deal thing and get rid o’ Anthony?”

“No,” Charlie said firmly.

 _”That’s not how it works,”_ Alastor told him.

”Damnit,” Arackniss said.

Cherri shot him a glare. “You right, _mate?”_ It sounded vaguely like a threat. “Come on, Angel, lets get you outta this fucking studio.”


	5. Chapter 5

The drive was long, awkward, and he spent it in it’s entirety pinching his thigh all subtle-like, because even speeding down this highway, maybe coming down from a once-rejected (and now sadly welcomed) high, nauseous as hell, this was the safest he knew he had been in a long while.

But the lingering dread that’d been clinging to him, suffocating him, kept him from _feeling_ safe. Logically, sure, he knew he was safe, but nothing really felt _real_ right now—maybe it was his brother, at his side but pointedly avoiding his gaze and directing it out a window, or Cherri’s hand on his arm, a warm comforting touch he hadn’t realized how badly he needed until now, or the worried glances Vaggie kept throwing at him, or Charlie’s sad little smile.

Angel’s stomach lurched at the thought of what had just happened. He should say something, right? He should say a joke or something, but maybe it was the withdrawal symptoms, already kind of approaching, but there didn’t seem to be any sort of humor in any of this, so... he should thank them, shouldn’t he?

Alastor was the first to speak, though he had looked unbothered by the silence, and unbothered by just about everything else. “ _Well_ ,” he said. “ _That could have gone far worse!_ ”

”Yeah,” Arackniss scoffed. “Anthony could be a junkie and dressed like a broad, limpin’ around like he broke a leg—oh, wait.”

Vaggie shot him a glare. “Shut up,” she said. “He’s been out of the studio for no more than five minutes, we can grill him when we get back to the hotel.”

Cherri chimed in, glared his brother down, “I will throw you out the window and onto oncoming traffic, you short trash can man.” Arackniss didn’t look intimidated at all, but Angel appreciated the thought behind the threat.

Charlie spoke up, hand on Vaggie’s arm. “The important thing is,” she said. “Angel’s safe.”

His brother muttered beneath this breath, “Anthony,” and while Cherri bristled and Charlie shot him a dirty look, no one did anything.

He was safe, he reminded himself. He didn’t feel safe, but he was.

He pinched his thigh again.

The limo pulled up in front of the hotel, looming over them and casting a shadow onto the street. One by one, all six of them exited the car, but Angel found himself lingering on the sidewalk, watching cars pass by on the road like he was gonna throw himself into traffic. He took a deep breath but it just made his nose bleed.

Cherri grabbed his hand and tugged him into the hotel—which was a good thing, because he might have stayed there forever if they let him.

The lobby was warm— _safe._ They all stepped inside and Charlie ran a hand through her hair, sighing. “Okay,” she started. “First thing’s first...” She turned to him, eyes big—behind her, he could see Husk at the bar, Niffty crunching away on ice, but they were both staring at them, staring at _him._ “Are you okay?” Charlie asked. “Do you need medical attention, should we—“ A drop of blood hit the carpet, flowing past his hands and Charlie gasped. “Vaggie, get the first aid!” She cried, and slapped the contract in her hands—that Angel had forgotten she was holding—into whoever was closest to her’s hands, which happened to be Arackniss. Charlie dove for the bar, grabbed a bunch of napkins and raced back to him.

At some point, Niffty had zipped from the countertop of the bar to a nearby table where she grinned, frenzied. “I’ll grab the bleach!” She chirped, made eye contact with him as she jumped to the floor again. “Third time today cleaning up blood! Yay!”

Charlie pushed napkins into his hands, tried to tilt his head back before he corrected her, (“Tilt your heard _forward_ , or ya choke on your own blood,” the first thing he had said since he left the studio) and Vaggie looked him over, like she was looking for bruises or cuts or something that was going to have him keeling over in minutes.

He glanced around—the hotel looked the same as it had, and behind the bar, Husk was cradling a squirming, happy pig while he said something to Arackniss.

...The pig.

His pig!

He rushed forward and basically slammed two of his arms down on the counter. “You’re my favorite fuckin’ bar cat, Husky,” he said.

Husk might have actually smiled. “Good to see you back, Angel.” He set Fat Nuggets down on the floor and he _sped_ around the counter to rush towards him, snorting happily.

Angel knelt down. “There’s the best pig in the whole wide world!” He almost forgot how much he loved his pig—holy shit, he forgot how perfect his pig was, how good his pig felt in his arms. “I missed you, baby Nuggs—Mama’s back.”

His pig was still going crazy.

Niffty raced by again—his hands had gotten a small bit of blood on the counters that she cheerfully wiped off, talking a mile a minute. _“Ohmygosh,_ I’m so glad you’re back, Angel! Right before they left, Alastor told me to not ambush you the minute you came in, so I didn’t, but now that you’re over here and I’m cleaning, it doesn’t count as an ambush, right? _Right?”_

He smiled. Fuck, he felt tired. But he had his pig. He was safe—and that _feeling_ of safety was going to wash over him, soon enough. “Yeah, Niffty,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

Niffty beamed up at him—he held his pig a bit tighter.

”You look like shit,” Husk told him.

”I feel like shit,” he responded. “...But I... guess it’s over now.” It came out as _ova_.

But it was, he guessed. It was _ova._

He turned back to his brother—still holding that piece of paper and everyone in the hotel froze.

”Oh!” Charlie said. “I just remembered! Uh—Alastor, Husk, Niffty, we’re uh...” She grabbed Vaggie’s arm. “Having a meeting thing. To discuss hotel things. In a room separate from this one, and uh...” She turned to Cherri. “Cherri, you’re our focus group!”

Cherri looked at Charlie flatly before giving a small, “Sure.” She turned to Angel. “If anything happens, shout and I will help you beat this punk up.”

That did give him a much needed confidence boost. They all left in a not so subtle way to give them privacy and Angel looked at Arackniss again—for a minute, it looked like they were in a staring contest before Arackniss’ phone buzzed.

He took it out, glanced at the screen and muttered something like, _“He’ll have to wait,”_ before setting it down on the counter—and the staring continued.

”...Fuck, you’re short,” Angel said at last.

 _“Veramente._ ” Arackniss glared up at him. “That’s the first thing you fuckin’ say to me.”

”Yeah?” He sat down on a stool at the bar, started petting Fat Nuggets, holding him close. “It’s fuckin’ true. You’re fuckin’ short. Little shorty. Short stack. Small fry.”

”Oh, fuck you, Tony.” One of his hands shot out and for a moment, Angel thought he was going to hit him, but it was just him handing over his contract. When he didn’t immediately reach out for it, Arackniss shook it. It crinkled.

Angel took it from him like he worried it’d burn his skin. “...Thanks, I guess.”

They went back to silence before Angel tried to cross his lower arms over his hips, forgetting he was holding his pig, until Nuggets squeaked and settled down on his lap, settling down after a few thousand more scratches. “...Does Pops know you’re here?” He asked at last.

He had almost forgot Arackniss... Ian... Whatever drummed his fingers like this when he was thinking. “Yeah,” he said. “He sent some o’ the guys with me, they helped us get in and get to the top floor.” He paused for a minute, and added, “He was hopin’, once we got your contract or whatever, you’d come back.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Pops wants me back?”

”Yeah,” Arackniss said. “...We all kinda do. But we want you back without the skirts, and the men, and... maybe the drugs? I dunno, we dunno how to feel ‘bout the drugs.”

”Well, then, I’m not comin’ back,” he said.

Arackniss shrugged. “He hoped you would—hoped that maybe it was a phase or somethin’, and you’d come back, in a suit, goin’ by Anthony again, and we could put all this bullshit behind us, but I knew better.”

”I ain’t goin’ back,” he said. “Ever.”

”Alright. I didn’t think you would.” There was a pause. Arackniss sighed, tilted his head forward like he didn’t want Angel looking at his face. “You ‘member the pastor?” He asked.

He remembered the pastor and the pastor’s son, but Arackniss took his silence for a no. “And how he mollested little boys? And was found in the church, splayed over the pews, after a shotgun was taken to his knees and elbows and head?”

”Yeah,” he said. “I remember. ...Our father had somethin’ to do with that, huh?”

”Uh-huh,” Arackniss said. “...When he learned you were... what you were. What you _are._ He panicked. Moment you left, he started talking about that pastor—he thinks he musta gotten to you or somethin’ and he doesn’t know. Thinks he turned you, traumatized you.”

”No,” he said. “Pastor didn’t lay a hand on me.”

”Yeah,” Arackniss said. “I know that. He knows it too—but he still fuckin’ worries. Thinks he shoulda killed him a long time before that. So he’d know.”

”Damn, he really thinks I’m sick, huh?”

”Maybe he’s hopin’,” Arackniss said. “Or maybe he was just worried that you were secretly sufferin’ and didn’t know how to turn to us for help. ...Guess it’s a good thing, though—that you’re not.”

“Yeah, Niss—I guess it _is_ a good thing I’m not suffering from _gayngst_.”

Arackniss paused. “...What the fuck is ‘ _gayngst_ ’. What the fuck is that?”

”Y’know. Gay angst. Angst that is gay. Angst ya get because you’re gay! _Gayngst._ ” Arackniss still looked confused. “... _Internalized homophobia,_ Niss—that’s... That’s what I’m talkin’ about. But it doesn’t got a ring to it.”

”I thought it was like... a _verb,_ ” he said. “Like, that’s what a gangster does. _Gayngst._ ”

”Nah,” he said. “...Just... internalized homophobia.”

”Got it.”

”Cool.”

”Cool.”

There was another moment of silence. “...Why the fuck are ya here?” Angel finally asked, but Arackniss looked away from him. “Like... Thanks for helpin’ or whatever, but... what made ya wanna help? How’d ya even fuckin’ know I was...”

 _”Dio_ , Tony,” he sighed. “...Look, I know we didn’t get along in life. And I don’t... fuckin’ understand all o’ _this—“_ He gestured towards Angel’s outfit, his chest, his heels, his choker. “—and I don’t fuckin’ like it. ...But I... I don’t hate you, Tony. You’re... still my brother, I guess.”

”Angel,” he said, firmly. “It’s Angel.”

”Oh, come the fuck on,” Arackniss scoffed. “I gotta call you by your porn star name?”

”Yeah,” Angel said. “Because it was my stage name and all, but I mean—I’ve been called it for the past seventy years, I _like_ my name.”

”You know Angel’s a girl’s name, right?” He asked. “Could you at least go by _Angelo_ , or somethin’?”

”No. Angel.” Arackniss shook his head. “Everyone goes by a different name down here, Niss—I ain’t about to start callin’ ya Ian, even if I do think Arackniss is stupid. I’m not askin’ for support or anythin’, just call me by my goddamn name.”

”Fine,” Arackniss said. “Fine. _Angel._ ...But I ain’t losin’ your last name.”

”Oh, for the love of God—“

”Well, I’m not,” he said. “I ain’t callin’ you _Angel Dust,_ because Angel Dust took Anthony Acciai away from all o’ us.”

He paused. It was a weird way to look at it. “Just the drug, maybe,” Angel said at last. “I liked it as my name. It was a good replacement. For Acciai.”

”No,” Arackniss said. “Take it. Take it back, take your stupid fuckin’ last name back.”

...Angel Acciai didn’t sound like a _really_ stupid name, he guessed. “Alright,” he said.

”Alright. ...But I’ll call you Angel, if it really fuckin’ means that much to you.”

”It does.”

”Alright.”

”Alright.”

...Fuck, he needed a drink. He reached over the counter to snag a bottle from the bar—Arackniss’ phone vibrated again. “Who’s that?” He asked, pouring the contents of the bottle directly into his mouth.

”Just my wife,” Arackniss said and he almost fucking choked.

” _Ya gotta wife?”_ He shouted.

Arackniss shrugged. “Kinda—it’s more like a... long term engagement. You remember Maurizio?”

Barely—some friend of their father’s. “He dressed in a lot of dark blue’s, right?”

”That’s the one. Well, he had a daughter, and I think Pops tried to set me up with her or somethin’, we actually went on a date like a week or two before you OD’d—you remember her? Maria?”

”Oh my fuck,” he said, but Arackniss continued.

”But then after you died, on like, our second date or whatever, she got hit by a train.”

”Oh my fuck,” he repeated.

”The funeral was kinda borin’, but she had a cousin or somethin’, or like... a half cousin? I dunno, Maurizio’s family’s fuckin’ weird, she was visiting from Mexico for the funeral, guess she was close. Cecilia. She just goes by Lia nowadays.” He shrugged. “She was pretty, liked guns, was an opera singer.”

”An opera singer. Ya almost married an opera singer. What the fuck.”

”She died a few years before me, not long after you—she was buried alive or somethin’ real horrible, and she’s low key pissed she didn’t wake up dead with more than two arms. We met after a decade or two, and picked up where we left off.”

”You’re makin’ this up.” Something about the thought of his brother with _anyone_ was amusing.

”I’m not—she’s pretty alright. She doesn’t leave home much, think she’s depressed or somethin’.”

Angel frowned. “...She’s ‘pretty alright’ but you almost married her?”

”Honestly, I just wanted Ma and Pops to get off my back about findin’ a gal, and some guy was always hittin’ on her, so she used me to get him to stop. ...Oh, and I helped her get rid of the body of her first husband.”

”...What the fuck.”

”Yeah, it was a good bondin’ experience.” At Angel’s dumbfounded stare he said, “C’mon, I’m in the fuckin’ mafia, don’t judge me for helpin’ her hide a body.”

”That’s not it,” Angel said. “...I’m convinced you made her up. There’s no way she’s real.”

”She’s pretty fuckin’ real.”

”Sure she is.”

”Fuck.” 

Angel wasn’t sure if that was a _Fuck, you caught me,_ or a _Fuck, you’re being stupid,_ but it didn’t matter too much. He guessed a part of him was glad to not be in a fistfight with his brother— _yet_. Arackniss pulled out his phone and showed him a photo—a demoness with long legs and wide hips filled the screen. She almost looked human, except for the fact that she had too many eyes like someone had thrown a handful of them at her and let them stick wherever they did without any consideration for how her face looked, too many teeth that split her mouth open wider than it needed to be, and her dark grey skin was covered in dark purple splotches that for a minute, he thought was bruises but actually turned out to be rot. Her skin was mottled with rot—and seemed to show bits of bone and muscle and still, this chick smiled at the camera. “She’s always stealin’ my suits. I tell her she can’t wear ‘em properly with her two arms, but she wears them anyway, and tells me she’d let me go through her clothes if I wanted to.”

”...So you’re cool with your wife dressin’ like a man, but I put on a skirt and I don’t hear the end of it?”

”It’s different.”

”It’s stupid.”

”Whatever.”

Angel looked at her again—took in the dark hair, the bangles on her wrists, focused on the two larger eyes on her face. “Yeah,” Arackniss said. “She ain’t much o’ a looker anymore.”

Angel tried to think—theoretically, makeup could probably cover up most of her eyes, and whatever rotting parts of her that couldn’t be covered in makeup, could be covered by tall enough boots or stockings. “...Was she ever in the _porn_ _biz_?”

Arackniss looked at him flatly. “What are you tryin’ to imply ‘bout my... fiancée/wife/whatever?”

”Val had a poster in his office, a chick that looked just like her, except, minus the extra eyes. She was always wearin’ like, thigh high white stockin’s too. And garter belts? It was like, her trademark or somethin’.” Like he had with his boots. Angel had never learned her name or anything, but he did know that her last year working for Valentino had been one of his first few years, but what exactly _last year_ meant for her had always been a mystery.

Arackniss frowned. “...She never _mentioned_ doing porn.”

”I’m sure she was into some classy shit,” Angel told him. “Don’t worry about her doin’ gangbangs and lesbian sex.”

”Shut the fuck up, Angel, _Dio_.”

He chuckled and punched Arackniss in the shoulder. “Look at you—gettin’ dizzy with a dame. How’s Ma and Pops like her?”

He shrugged. “They were somewhere in between glad I had an interest in anyone with a set o’ tits, and disgusted by anyone who wasn’t less then perfect for their only son, and then... only kid.” He cleared his throat. “They like her just fine, but I think they wanted to like her more.” He sighed. “I can’t with them anymore—they were terrible with you gone, Angel, even worse with Molly, and now they’re scared to their second death I’m either gonna commit suicide via freaky Exterminator things or fuck some guy or... whatever.”

”Ya ain’t gonna commit suicide, are ya?”

”Probably fuckin’ not. Lasted this fuckin’ long.” He rubbed at his eyes. “...It gets old is all. And they don’t got any sorta consistency either—sometimes Ma acts like you don’t exist, and then gets so insistent on me bein’ her only son that it’s obvious she does know you still exist.” Fuck, he almost forgot his mother used to pretend people who pissed her off didn’t exist—even if it was her own children, she’d just _ignore_ them. “And... fuck, you remember how much Pops loved Miele?”

Miele had been a complete daddy’s girl, he remembered. “Yeah?”

”Well, after you left, was disowned... whatever. Pops was talkin’ about it, and Ma insisted they stick to their guns, and Molly told him if he didn’t change his mind and fix things with you, she’d never speak to him again. And uh... then you died. Like, the next day, you were comatose, and when you were in the hospital, Pops just kinda doubled down on all that shit, and Molly didn’t speak a fuckin’ word to him for years. Right before _she_ died, she told Pops to shut up, in the middle of a fight with Ma, but that was about it—and uh... then she was dead, so... She didn’t do a whole lotta talkin’ with anyone.”

...He needed more alcohol. He took another gulp of whatever booze he had grabbed. “Ya seem pretty dismissive over that entire fuckin’ night,” he said.

”What? _I_ didn’t kick you out.”

”Pops never woulda found out if it weren’t for you.” ...How would things have looked then, he wondered? He couldn’t imagine things going any differently, because from Arackniss catching him to him following Arackniss home and the whole conversations... It had moved so quickly, but in the moment, Angel remembered he had been thinking, _it was gonna happen eventually, but why now?_ ...He felt like he hadn’t been ready, like he had needed just a little longer to pretend he was straight.

Arackniss suddenly looked uncomfortable. “ _I_ didn’t say anything to him and you _know that_.”

Angel wasn’t sure—everything that night had moved quickly. One moment, his skin had been on fire and he thought he was going to get a really good dicking, but then he had heard movement and then he had turned and had made eye contact with his brother—and then he had known that _Yep,_ that was Arackniss and he had seen and he looked completely disgusted and he had turned and hurried off.

He hadn’t said anything. Angel would have killed for him to say something, would have _died_ for him to at least acknowledge it, but he just hurried home and Angel had been a step behind and they had been talking, and probably talking too loud—

“God,” Angel said. His mother had laughed in his face, had turned around and refused to look at him again. His father called him a disgrace.

Maybe Arackniss was thinking about it too. He sighed. “...I should have said something,” he said. “...I shoulda done something, Angel. I’m sorry, okay? I don’t... I don’t _get_ it, and I don’t expect to ever fuckin’ understand, and—fuck, I don’t think Pops is ever gonna bring himself to talk about you any more than in passing without thinkin’ too much about you, but... _fuck.”_ He slammed his head into the counter. “...I don’t fuckin’ care, okay? It was bad enough when you were dead and it was just me and Molls, but fuck— _the both of you_? It was fuckin’ unbearable.”

This alcohol wasn’t hitting yet. “What? Is that supposed to be nice or somethin’?” He asked. “Am I supposed to be _glad_ you’re talkin’ to me. Like, oh, ya fuckin’ hate me, will never accept me, but we’re talkin’, so it’s all good?”

”Thought I said I didn’t hate you.” Angel took another swallow from the bottle. “Fuck, I can’t—fuck, I don’t know how to— _fuck.”_ He buried his face in a pair of hands. “...I don’t know where to start, Ant—gel. Angel. ...I tried. I tried to talk to Pops about you, before you overdosed, but he...”

He shifted on his stool. “He what?”

”...He thought he was settin’ you straight.” Arackniss sighed, rubbed at his temples. “I told him that he had raised us to be too much like him. You were too stubborn. If he pushed you away, you weren’t comin’ back anytime soon, but... Fuck, he was too stubborn. He thought for sure you’d come back home and we could all forget you were a queer. ...I knew you never woulda done that but... No one saw your overdose comin’.”

”Shit, Niss,” he said. “...That almost makes me give a shit.”

Arackniss rolled his eyes. “Not tryin’ to get you to care, Angel—fuck, I don’t know why I’m here. ‘Cause you’re my brother or somethin’, and... you’re a fuck up, Angel, you’re a real piece of work, but we both know I ain’t any better.”

”Yeah,” Angel said. “Whole family’s a bunch o’ freaks and fuck ups.”

Arackniss snorted. “All the family down here.”

”Yeah, Molly’s no fuck up.”

”Molly was great.”

”...I miss her,” Angel admitted. “...Like, a lot. More than I want to.”

”...Miele doesn’t belong down here though,” Arackniss said. “...It’s a good thing she’s not.”

”Yeah.”

They both went quiet for a moment. “So what now?” Angel asked.

“Whaddya mean ‘what now?’”

Every throb of his heart made something in his head pulse, and he felt way too warm right now, but he figured he’d tough it out for now. “I mean, are we just gonna go back to ignorin’ each other’s existence? Just ice each other out and pretend this never happened?”

”...I dunno. Never thought that far ahead.” ...Arackniss’ legs were really short, they didn’t touch the floor. Just kind of hovered. Dangled. It was a weird thing to notice. “I ain’t naive enough to think Ma and Pops are gonna come around for you. They’re still hopin’ you’re not a...” He frowned. “...drag queen? Porn star? Stripper? Whore?”

Angel thought about that for a moment. “I think I still am.”

”...What? No, you don’t work for Valentino anymore.”

”I never said I worked for him,” Angel said. “Self-employed.”

Arackniss stared at him. “Are you—“ He stopped, made a noise, snapped his fingers—he forgot the English word for what he was saying. “— _Veramente_?”

”Yeah,” he said. “I _like_ stripping. I _like_ sex. I didn’t like doin’ it under Valentino, but... continuing my whole business I got goin’? Under my own terms? Because I want to, not ‘cause Val wants to squeeze every last cent outta me he can? That I can get behind.”

”But you don’t... _have to_ now,” Arackniss told him. “Why sell your body, looks like you got everythin’ you need at this hotel?”

”Because I wanna,” Angel said, simply. “And it’s not sellin’ my body, it’s a service. One that I like and can do good—let me have this, Niss.”

He could tell he didn’t like it—he wasn’t sure why or how, but Arackniss didn’t push the issue. “So, we good with not hatin’ each other from now on, or...?”

“Oh no,” Angel said. “It’s on sight. Next time I see ya, I’m puttin’ you in a body bag. But it’s gonna be out of love. It’s the Cain instinct.”

”...Are you killin’ me before you put me in a body bag or...?”

”No. Just the body bag. And then I’ll throw it in a locker somewhere, because you’ll fit in a locker.”

”...Alright.”

They were quiet for a long, long period of time—Angel couldn’t find much more to say. He wasn’t sure how to feel, after all these years of trying to convince himself he had no interest in reconnecting with any family (okay. No family he _could_ connect with, if Molly was down here, he’d find her and love her to her second death), and he wasn’t sure if that was a lie he had told himself when he was bitter over how his family reacted, or if he was genuinely able to move on from his family. “Ya aren’t gonna be like...” He couldn’t quite think of a word, so he went with, “ _dick-ish_ ,” and then continued, somewhat aware of a few pairs of eyes on him. “...about this, right?”

”No more than _you,”_ Arackniss said. “...But like... I like... the idea. Of havin’ a relationship with at least one o’ my siblings. I could deal with hearin’ Molly bitch at me about you, if she was at least here, but the fact that she isn’t, and I can still hear her—it’s drivin’ me up the wall.”

”The hell does a healthy relationship even fuckin’ look like?” He asked. “Like, how do ya do the healthy relationship things?”

”...I dunno.” Briefly, Angel took the opportunity to look over his shoulder and around the room, suddenly aware that anyone could easily be lingering and hearing this conversation, and he wasn’t sure if he really felt safe yet doing anything, and definitely not being this vulnerable—he didn’t even know how he was managing this conversation, he half expected to still somehow manage to piss of Arackniss, but Arackniss was still talking, drumming his fingers. “...Not a lotta healthy relationships down in Hell, and these days, I barely remember life, back in New York.”

There really wasn’t many healthy relationships down here. As far as Angel knew, healthy relationships took a ton of hard work, you had to fight tooth and claw to better yourselves, to not be dicks to each other and just about no one seemed to want to do that. Down here, no one fought for a good relationship, not when they were too busy fighting to have an edge over someone, a way to be better, stronger—he had had a few sparse relationships but they had always been more like flings. They had been short. He had never felt that much of a connection. The guy always got weirdly possessive of him over the job, and not only had it been off putting, but he didn’t want a relationship with someone so monogamous, and there was always the simple fact they seemed to believe he could just quit his job—quit his job for some overrated John who usually didn’t seem all that much about him anyway.

...It had never been worth it. And he didn’t have that many friends, either—for the most part, he just hung out with Cherri or people at the hotel. Cherri was probably the healthiest relationship he had, honestly, he loved that girl and she had always been a good friend. From the start, they had gotten along, and instead of tearing each other down, they tore other people down _together._

But Angel had _never_ had a good relationship with his brother. Sometimes, it had been _decent,_ but Arackniss had been busy being their parents’ favorite son, and he had been busy hiding the biggest secret of his life, wedged somewhere in the back of his closet. A big, rainbow, sparkly secret that he knew, that if it ever got out, would destroy his relationship with his family (and also keep him from ever working a government job, he thought, but he was more focused on things he actually worried about) among other things—the idea of a healthy relationship with his brother was something strange. Foreign.

The more he thought about it, the more he could count the healthy relationships he really had over the course of his life and probably his afterlife on his fingers. ...And probably on one hand, if he really thought about it—he didn’t think Vaggie or Husk or Alastor really liked him, probably only a matter of time before he pissed Charlie off, especially now that he was back on drugs, and Niffty was really just lonely and would probably make new friends eventually, he didn’t think himself a good friend for her. “Maybe Charlie’s got some books or somethin’ on it she’ll let me borrow. I don’t know what a _healthy_ relationship would look like between us, I thought we were gonna brawl by the time ya came in here.”

”Thought we were too,” Arackniss said. “...But I mean, beatin’ each other up probably isn’t healthy.”

Angel stroked Nuggets’ ears. “If we’re gonna have a relationship, I want ya to like my pig.”

”...You’re joking.” Angel looked up at him. “...You’re _not_ joking? Oh my fuck, Angel, it’s a fucking pig.”

”This fuckin’ pig is my fuckin’ baby and he really missed his mama, Niss—he’d like an uncle.”

”...The fuck’s this pig’s name?” Arackniss asked, looked down at him in Angel’s lap.

”Fat Nuggets.”

”That’s a stupid name.”

”So is fuckin’ Arackniss, but I didn’t fuckin’ say anythin’—I didn’t pick his name out, he was a gift, ‘cause I like pigs.”

”Why would you _like_ pigs?” He pointed at Fat Nuggets. “This little shit able to hide bodies or somethin’?”

”No, I’d never feed him a body,” he said. “Nuggs deserves way better than bodies.”

“High in protein.”

”...Corpses?”

”I meant the pig.”

This went without saying, but if Arackniss ate his pig, he would consume his brother whole. Maybe he’d get Alastor’s help with that? Point was, Arackniss was not allowed to eat his pig. “Why’d you name your pig Fat Nuggets if you’re not gonna eat him?”

”Because he’s chubby and cute and I love him and didn’t name him?” He reached over, still holding the pig. “Pet him.”

”...I don’t think I want to.”

”I think you do,” Angel said. “Pet him. Pet the pig.”

Arackniss sighed and rested a hand on Nuggets’ head while staring at his brother. “Okay, but that’s not really pettin’ him,” he said. “That’s just... That.” Confused, Fat Nuggets tried to sniff Arackniss’ hand, but he just kept it on the top of his head. “Really, do you not know how to pet a pig? Pet my baby.”

He continued to make eye contact and slid his hand from the top to Nugget’s snout. “Oh my fuck, you don’t know how to pet a pig? Jesus fuck.”

It occurred to him this conversation could have him putting a _lot_ of money in the swear jar, money he didn’t have, and something about that was honestly amusing.

Amusing enough to push how hot and tired he was feeling out of his mind, for a second at least.

He rubbed his temples. “How’d those broads find you anyway?” Arackniss asked.

He smiled. “I think they found me, actually.” Arackniss raised a brow. “I, uh... tried to get a drug deal thing for Valentino.”

”By _yourself_?” He asked.

”It was just a trade—I give them the money, they hand over the drugs—easy enough, right? But there was like, a lotta them. Pro’lly more than like, five. I hand over the money and they all pull their guns out on me, the stupid little shits.”

”You _gotta_ be kiddin’ me, Anth—“ He paused. “...Angel.”

”They thought they could grab the money and leave by just threatenin’ me.” His smile sharpened into a grin. “Shoulda seen the look on their faces when I pulled out six guns and shot them all. Scored that bastard his drugs and the money—he heard the gunshots go off, his limo mighta been followin’ me, I know he was lookin’ for me. Ungrateful dickwad didn’t care about the trade, just thought I wasted his time, so he made me stop at a street corner and make up for the lost time filmin’, but before anyone really got me, this other limo pulled up to me.”

”You’re gonna get serial killed,” Arackniss said. “Like, you’re seriously gonna street walk in _Hell?“_

”Yeah?” He asked. “Quit bein’ such a fuckin’ prude, Niss—“

”Okay, whatever, you’re gonna be a hooker, okay, I get it—but at least be smart about it, you better not get yourself murdered now.”

...He might have a point. Or maybe Angel was just glad that he finally seemed to care about his wellbeing, enough that instead of caring about him having sex, he was worried about being murdered. Or maybe Angel was just used to judgement over his job. He didn’t know—the warmth his care sent into his chest would have been pleasant if he didn’t already feel feverish. “Anyway,” he said. “Vaggie and Charlie were in the limo, wanted to talk to me about their hotel—they just want to get one soul redeemed and placed in Heaven, to prove it’s possible.”

”Is it?” Arackniss asked.

”That’s what I asked—and they didn’t know then. But, uh... I’m here. Tryin’ it out. They cover my food and boardin’ and I work on betterin’ myself.”

”...And you agreed to this? Did they threaten you?”

”...No.”

”...If they put a gun up to your head or somethin’, twisted your arm into this, you can tell me—“

”No, Niss—I chose to take them up on this.” He sighed. “...I was stayin’ in some crappy apartment not too far from the studio, but... bad neighborhood. I know there ain’t really any good neighborhoods in Hell, but like, I got a pig to look after. And I wanted to put some distance between me and the studio, me and Val—god, that fucker had me on a tight leash, I was only stayin’ in that apartment ‘cause it was the farthest I could get away from him. Paid for it outta pocket, nearly fuckin’ bankrupted myself tryin’ to pay rent, and pick food up for Nuggs and me, and Val was so pissed at me, knew I was tryin’ to get away, so he started givin’ me less drugs, which was a good thing, because those were just drivin’ me further into debt, I had to give my landlord a blowie every month to keep him from kickin’ me out—“ At Arackniss’ grimace, it clicked he was rambling. He stopped himself, and finished with, “I didn’t mind stayin’ here.”

”And you’re the only patron here?” He asked.

He shrugged. “Yeah. First it was just me, Charlie and Vaggie, and Vaggie fuckin’ hated me—and then, I got into a turf war and ruined the hotel’s reputation, and that was where Alastor came in—he like... summoned Niffty and Husk, but I’m still the only patron.”

”...Huh,” Arackniss said. “Are you like... takin’ the redemption thing seriously, or...?”

He wasn’t sure. He had it good here—his pig had a babysitter, got good head scratches from Vaggie, Charlie, Niffty, Husk _and_ him (and he might have imagined it, it had felt like a fever dream, but he swore he once saw Alastor drop an apple slice for him, so maybe he was growing on Alastor?), and aside from the pig, he was growing fond of Husk and Niffty, and yes, even Vaggie and Charlie (and... still didn’t understand Alastor but did low key think he was cool).

”I wanna get clean,” Angel said—except he wasn’t sure if he really did anymore. He had forgotten how _good_ those highs felt. PCP had been... a familiar sort of good, but whatever drug Valentino had given him had been so _good._ He hadn’t liked it, when it hit, he had tried to fight it, but once he started coming down from it, he had realized how much he had craved that feeling.

”...Really?” Arackniss asked.

”Yeah, really—I wouldn’t have been clean for five months and a week if I didn’t wanna be,” he said—and then remembered that that was over. He was not clean. It didn’t feel like he’d ever actually get clean, he was gonna be dealing with withdrawals and track marks and snorting PCP for the rets of his afterlife—and the end was probably a while away! “...Fuck—I don’t even half a year to fuckin’ show for it. Fuck. And it doesn’t even fuckin’ matter. Ya really think I don’t—“ His voice broke. “Fuck. Believe me, I fuckin’ tried, I didn’t wanna...” How the fuck did he even explain what happened? He didn’t know how tp put it into words. There was something about it all that was honestly... _embarrassing._

Because it was barely against his will! It was, it definitely was, he had been clean, but he’d been a hair away from giving in for so long—how did he describe that? There was no way he could convince Arackniss that he would have _turned down drugs._ He’d never believe it, and Angel barely believed it—but trying to put it into words...

He had been tied down. He remembered the needle in his skin, he remembered feeling sick to his stomach. He remembered the ropes coming off, feeling hollow inside, and later, Valentino’s fingers threading through his hair while he bent him over that same stupid fucking vanity—

He hadn’t let him up. He wouldn’t have let go, until he just did what he wanted—he knew he wouldn’t have stopped. Angel could have begged and pleaded—nothing stopped Valentino from getting what he wanted, and if he wanted to get Angel high enough to keep him complacent enough for him to freely manhandle him, to make him do what he wanted.

And he had decided he wanted to bend Angel over the vanity and make him do a line—and something deep, deep down hadn’t really wanted to fight.

”...I didn’t want to,” he said, but he really wasn’t sure. His voice came out quieter than he wanted it to be, more hollow.

”You were high when we found you.”

”I didn’t want to,” he said. “I didn’t... choose to. I just...” He sighed—he couldn’t keep going. He wanted to lay down, maybe curl up in the fetal position.

He could handle having a relationship with his brother maybe. But being this bare, this open, this _vulnerable_ —they’d have to make their way up to it.

Arackniss might have noticed his silence. “...Goddamnit, Angel,” he said, his voice softer than he had heard it in a long time—and maybe ever. “...I’m not tryin’ to...” He went quiet to, leaving them in an awkward silence. “...Fuck. I...” He exhaled slowly. “I need to get goin’—I just kinda told my wife I was gonna piss of an Overlord this morning, I’m’a need to explain all this to her, and assure her I’m not dead.”

”Yeah, have fun explainin’ to your wifey you were just helpin’ rescue your gay, hooker brother.”

”Eh, she’s pretty relaxed—I’ll tell her, and she’ll just be glad no one died.” He got to his feet. “...At least no one she knows. And I gotta tell Pops, that too—in general, I need to tell people I didn’t die today.”

“Cool,” Angel said.

Arackniss said. “...Gimme your phone.”

He could have made a joke or something, but it was slowly sinking in that he was somewhat safe enough to just... _crash._ A part of him whispered he’d never feel safe in his own skin like this, not after what Valentino had done to him, because what did a contract mean when either way, he swore he could still feel Valentino’s hands on him—all four of them too. In places he did not want to feel Boeing touched by phantom hands in front of his brother. Wordlessly, he handed Arackniss his phone, and after a moment of doing... something, he handed it back—he had a new contact. “Text me or somethin’, Angel. Maybe if we get it all out over texts, we won’t end up fightin’ in the street next time we see each other.”

”Yeah,” Angel said. “That’d save me a lot of grief with Charlie and Vaggie, I’m not s’posed to be fightin’ anymore.”

”Yeah,” Arackniss said. “...Good luck gettin’ clean or whatever.”

”Good luck bein’ straight.”

He had the feeling that they had been eavesdropping on his conversation with Arackniss, but he didn’t accuse them. He wanted to—he really did, he wanted to lash out, tell them whatever the fuck they heard, they should forget about it, it wasn’t any of their fucking business, but he was glad enough to be back, it didn’t matter.

And there he sat on the bed in his room—back again, back safe-ish, maybe, able to put everything back where it just... belonged, really. He didn’t belong at the studio. His things didn’t belong at the studio. This was right to him.

Cherri sat across from him, back against the bed frame, knees up in the air while Fat Nuggets demanded pets from her—and Angel’s mind kept slipping back to some paperwork Charlie had been doing earlier, when he had caught a glimpse of _Angel Acciai_ written down (with smiley faces instead of dots over the _i_ ’s), and Charlie had followed his gaze and asked if it was okay. “Should I change it back?” She asked. “It’s your call.”

...He had told her not to, and was still sorting through how he felt about all that.

On top of that, Angel was thinking about how Cherri didn’t know a lot of things. She knew the most about him, than other people, but he still kept a weird amount of secrets from her. “Why didn’t you text me, Angie?” She asked. “I was really worried about you.”

He shrugged. “First I didn’t know what to say t0 ya. Then I didn’t know how to say it. And then Valentino read some of them—the one where ya said you were gonna kill him or somethin’, and then I just felt sick and... at that point I was high, and I was worried that like...”

He didn’t know. He didn’t know.

”Shit, Angel,” she said. Fat Nuggets snorted when her hands stilled, but she continued to look at him. “You don’t need to protect me, Angie—I mean, I appreciate it, and I know you were scared, and there’s like, nothing wrong with that, I know that jackass hurt you, and I’m not mad, but... _holy shit_ , Angel, I was worried sick.”

”Sorry, Sugartits.” He wasn’t really in a joke-y mood. He was coming down from a high—after sneaking out the window of his room, and beating up that vending machine that was too close to the hotel, mockingly close, and stole enough blow to keep him somewhat happy for a somewhat large enough time, and no one knew that yet, except him and Nuggs—but at least his pig didn’t judge him.

He was judging the fuck out of himself though.

”Hey,” he said. “You remember that uh...” He kept thinking about it. He might as well address it—if he would talk about it with _anyone,_ it would be Cherri. “...one night. Before we blew up one of Valentino’s clubs?”

Her gaze softened. “Yeah?”

”...That wasn’t the first time,” he said.

”No,” she said. “...The first time you thought about—“ She didn’t say it, neither of them wanted to put a name to all that. “—or the first time he...” She didn’t want to label that either. He didn’t either. Saying it aloud made it different. In his head? Yeah, that was sexual assault. That was rape. That was wrong. Valentino was a rapist. But he’d rather keep it at, _My pimp’s a rat bastard_ because a part of him still thought it his problem, something only between him and Valentino. There was something humiliating about having something he should love used against him—it had been sex, he _liked_ sex, but he...

He hadn’t liked that.

“The first time he...” He cleared his throat. “...It... wasn’t the second time either. He had done all sorts of things before then.”

”Fuck, really? How long’s he been doing that to you?”

He sighed. “A while. A long while.” But before Cherri even came down here, before they even met. “...I just remember him bein’ a bit... rougher. It wasn’t just him not takin’ no for an answer, he was... angry. Forceful. It just... kinda reached a boilin’ point there, y’know? ...I never thanked ya then, did I?”

”Angie, you needed me,” she said. “You needed someone. You didn’t need to thank me.”

”Have I ever told ya that you’re the fuckin’ best?” He asked.

”Now that I can’t say,” Cherri said. “Maybe I think you’re the fuckin’ best, bitch.”

”No, you, bitch.”

”Bitch.”

”Bitch!”

Cherri hadn’t pet Fat Nuggets in too long—and it had apparently angered him. He rose onto his hind legs to lick her face, catching her by surprise. He laughed. “Fat Nuggets’ is takin’ my side, Sugartits— _you’re_ the best.”

”I think he’s trying to kill me,” Cherri coughed, leaned away from him and gave him head scratches while grabbing a waterbottle to her side to take a swig.

”He thinks a bit more than your tits are sugar,” Angel said—and water shot out of Cherri’s nose while she laughed. “Jesus fuck, it wasn’t that funny, Cherri.”

She snorted, coughed again, wiped her mouth and nose with the back of her hand. “Fuck, that hurt too.” They settled into quiet for a second, before she asked, “So, uh, what’s with Vaggie?” She asked.

”She’s got it bad for Charlie,” Angel said. “I know she’s your type and ya probably think she’s hot and really wanna hit that, but they’re my OTP, and ya can’t break them up for a fling.”

”That’s not what I meant,” Cherri said. “...I mean, she _is_ hot, but I meant her eye.”

”She’s got one.”

”No—her _other_ eye, the one with the freaky eyepatch with that _X_ you only find on Exterminators?”

”Oh,” Angel said. “Yeah, think she used to be an angel or something.”

”...Huh?”

”Vaggie. I think she was in Heaven at some point.”

”...What?”

“She hasn’t said anything about it,” he said. “But I’ve heard bits and pieces of conversations with Charlie, and she’s really quiet about it, but I’m like, ninety percent sure she wasn’t originally a demon.”

”...What does that mean?” Cherri asked. “Like, what the _fuck?_ ”

”I don’t know, but I got a _thousand_ theories,” he said. “Might be why she’s got a stick up her ass, maybe all angels are like that.”

”Huh,” Cherri said. “...Weird.”

”Yeah. Weird. But she ain’t so bad. She loves her girlfriend to pieces, and we’re at each other’s throats half the time, but she ain’t a major bitch.” He paused. “Plus, she has yet to like, molest me, so I mean.”

”Always a good thing,” she said. “No one else at this hotel’s done that to you, right?” Like she was gonna attack them or something, if he said they had.

”Uh, Charlie’s got this weird hand thing—like, sometimes, she just sorta clutches my hands. And I’ve been _trying_ to get Husk to molest me, but he ain’t bitin’. But no, none o’ that.”

”...Good,” she said. “...Okay, I keep trying to find a way to put it into the conversation more organically, but um...” Fat Nuggets settled into her lap and she didn’t stop petting him. “I was... considering staying at the hotel.”

This really had him taking pause. He looked at her closely. “For real?”

”Yeah,” she said. “I mean, I don’t believe in redemption or anything, and I don’t think I’m gonna stop blowing shit up and having fun, but I mean—I got _really_ into pain pills these past few months, and I’ve been thinking I’m going to need to get clean. So, I figured. Maybe I’d go clean with you—out of solidarity, you know? Support.”

Something about that made his heart swell—and then sink, because just a handful of hours ago, he’d been beating up a vending machine, refusing to think about getting clean. “Cherri,” he said.

”Drugs are bad anyway,” she said. “I uh, passed the idea by Charlie, but she got all quiet... and she was grinning more than Alastor? And then she might have passed out, it was really weird.”

That sounded a bit like Charlie—but she would be so happy to have a second patron, and considering she had cared enough to literally piss off one of the three _V_ ’s, he felt like she deserved to be a bit happy.

Angel rubbed his eyes. “God—everythin’ is so... weird now.”

”Good weird?” Cherri asked.

”Maybe,” he said. “But like... I’m not ever goin’ back to that studio. If I’m lucky, I’ll never be dealin’ with Val again. I might get clean. I _don’t_ want to deck my brother in the throat. It’s fuckin’ weird.”

But it did sound good.

Angel looked at the time—two in the morning. He needed to get to sleep.

He sighed. “It’s late.”

”Yeah,” Cherri said and got up, still holding and petting his pig before he set him down, curled up in a little ball and already asleep. “Guess I’ll go see if Charlie is awake and if I can stay here. I’ll let you get some rest.” He reached over and squeezed his arm gently, smiled weakly. “Night, Angie.”

”Night, Cherri.”

He sank into the mattress—and his phone vibrated before he could do much else.

He reached for his phone, his screen glaringly bright and stabbing at his eyes— _Angel Cakes, where are you right now?_

It was almost impressive how quickly he felt sick after seeing it—he didn’t want to deal with Valentino right now. He didn’t want to _think_ about Valentino right now, he’d have nightmares. _Sweetheart, I know you’re reading this._

God. He wished he wasn’t. He wished he wasn’t.

_How’d that PCP treat you, baby?_

He didn’t want to text him—but old habits died hard, and Valentino didn’t like being ignored. _Really good, Daddy._

_Good boy. The radio demon and his broads treating you alright? It’d be a shame if my moneymaker wasn’t in one piece._

He wasn’t _his_ anymore, he wanted to say—but even over text, he didn’t want to say that. He settled with a solid, _Yes._

_It’s okay, baby, I don’t care what that princess told you—you know if you want to come back to the studio, all you have to do is ask, Angel Cakes. You know I’ll let you.”_

Gross. This was gross, he felt gross, and he would very much like to pass out here and now, but his phone vibrated again. _Angel Dust, don’t ignore me. Daddy’s in a bad enough mood as it is. You don’t want to make it any worse._

He literally almost texted, “That’s not my name.” He had it typed out, and his thumb hovered over the send button, because his thumb knew there was something wrong with this, and then he swallowed and delegated all that, because Val’d beat him so much, he’d go black and blue instead of pink and white. _Okay, Mista Valentino._

_Good boy ❤️_

_You’ll be back at the studio soon enough, baby cakes. I’d give you a year before then, tops._

He didn’t text anything after that. Angel took a deep breath and set down his phone, laid on his side with his pig by his feet.

... _Angel Acciai_ was only appealing more and more to him, he had to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got more attention than I thought it would! All your comments are appreciated, and I will be working on more fics to focus on Angel’s relationship with his brother and his feelings towards his family in general, if you are interested in that, but thank you so much for reading!


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